


Legacy of the Dragonborn

by AlphaOmegaTartarus



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Graphic Description, Nightmares, Not Canon Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-04-05 20:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19047823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlphaOmegaTartarus/pseuds/AlphaOmegaTartarus
Summary: Bruccore Tailconis. Former bandit chieftain, once overcome by ruthlessness and greed. Current Vigilant of Stendarr, who's trying to pay for the sins of his past with the good deeds of the present.And now, the Last Dragonborn. The Wheel turns onto him, and both the Divines and the Daedric Princes have their eyes set on this lone Breton. In his struggles to pay for the sins of the past, as well as prevent his newly-borne dragon soul from making him commit any more in the present, he will have to use his faith and his willpower to stay on this narrow path of righteousness.After all, it's the only path worth walking.





	1. Sundas, 27th of Last Seed

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and thank you for checking out Legacy of the Dragonborn! A few things to explain before we start:
> 
> -These are RP chatlogs! My friend and I are doing this RP over Discord, and the chapters are just the in-character day-by-day events as they play out. For example, for Chapter 1, we begin on Sundas, the 27th of Last Seed (which is when Skyrim begins, in-universe). And since these are RP chat-logs, the perspective shift might seem a bit wonky at times, so just keep that in mind.
> 
> -On that note, I (AlphaOmegaTartarus) play Bruccore Tailconis, the protagonist of this story. My friend both DMs and plays his follower, Liu Rey. So a general rule of thumb is that if a section of text focuses on Bruccore's actions, it's my emote. If it focuses on anyone else, or on what he does, it's by my friend. 
> 
> -If you want to see more of this, leaving comments and kudos is the best way to go! 
> 
> -One final note: I'll be updating this every Friday! So keep an eye out every start of the weekend for a new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Went ahead and edited the first chapter's formatting so it's easier to read, and not just a giant wall of text. From here on, you can expect that lines separate our different emotes!

_Sundas, Last Seed. 27th._

 

The sun baked down on the cool ice-capped tips of southern Whiterun hold. The height of summer in these parts was quite temperate in sight of the burning star, but one still had to be careful to not catch their chill.

On this day, the roads were dotted with slush, melted into dirt and cracked ice. Overheated. And scored with blood. Helgen was burning.

The plumes of smoke stacked high, caught up in wisps of northern air blown in from the mountain tops. It carried the stench of burnt corpses and death down the valley, to reach the nose of anyone unfortunate to be caught in its wake. A warning sign to those who did not see it.

The cries of those who remain within the burning town could be heard still, though it was steadily falling to silence. Much of who were able to run had fled, the doors to the city almost broken off their hinges from the force of the retreat. Though that particular number was... miniscule. Perhaps one, perhaps two.

A Stormcloak and an Imperial.

The vagrants of Embershard took heed to the winds, and retreated into their captured folly, eyes blinking away tears and ash and fears. Apprehension. Paranoia. A common staple amongst the downtrodden and violent.

For those who looked to the sky, Death itself awaited their gaze.

The World Eater had come.

* * *

 

Far beyond, on the southern road, a single figure sat upon his horse. Their hooded gaze drew upwards, towards the winged shadow that flew across the land. Towards Death itself. He knew enough about Nordic lore to know exactly what this creature of sheer darkness and evil was.

"A dragon..." he breathed, disbelief apparent in his sapphire eyes. Shaking his head, he petted his frantic mount's man in an attempt to calm it.

His eyes go back to the burning town, with cries that were being silenced by the inexorable march of time. He looks back to the road from whence he came, before the Vigilant looked back.

"...there might still be survivors," he muttered, before digging his heels into his horse.

"HIYAH!"

And with that, the horse bolted forward--towards the stench of burning flesh and ash and dust. Towards Oblivion on Nirn.

* * *

 

The smell would be practically unbearable by the time he reached the gates. Even wild animals would know not to approach at that point, charred flesh and danger invading the senses.

Not to mention the burning hot ash being blown into the eyes and mouth and nose. Indeed, Oblivion on Nirn, as if walking through a gate into the pits of Dagon's realm itself. Swathes of corpses littered the broken battlefield, many of the buildings caved in and still on fire.

And yet he could still the cries of those who yet lived.

Bruccore Tailconis, the Vigilant of Stendarr who chanced upon Helgen's death, quickly tied a cloth around his mouth and nose as his horse approached the gates. Finally, it reared at the gates proper, unwilling to go any farther. The Breton pats its mane, before dismounting, and running in himself.

He was no stranger to death, but this was difficult for him to even comprehend. The amount of death and destruction...

Bruccore shook his head, and pressed on. His hands begin to glow a golden light as Restoration magic poured into his palms. He would begin seeking out the injured, and helping them, healing them as needed.

* * *

 

The touch of destruction inflicted by the World Eater was difficult to wrap one's mind around. The fire that licked at them burned them down to their very essence, nibbling away at the fragile kindle of their spirits.

The Vigilant was not able to save many of them, though he could soothe those who were suffering into a merciful death.

A stirring in his spirit would tell him that Stendarr smiled kindly upon his actions. This was the right thing to do. Especially those who would not last the night...

The silence, then, took a turn for the eerie. The bitter and broken who would yet live were eager to leave their savior, not wanting to have any part of staying moments longer in the ashen death trap.

It would leave Bruccore alone to the horrific wind and swirling death. Surely there was nobody else who yet lived?

* * *

 

Bruccore had continued soothing those in their final moments, giving succor and aid to those who were in their final death throes. As well as save those who could still live.

He did not blame them for wanting to leave. Were it not for his duties, he would quit this place as well. However, he looked over Helgen one last time. To make sure there was no one he missed, to make sure that all who had required aid passed on, or had left.

As he walked, he prayed to Arkay.

"Arkay, I beseech you; grant those who could not live, their final rest, for they deserve nothing less after the horrors of their final moments."

* * *

 

A tingling at his lips tasted of ash and decay, though it turned sweet as he spoke of blessings. Arkay was solemn in the face of destruction, he knew, and would bring them peace as many were carried ever-after to their final moments.

Many, indeed, to Sovngarde.

Just as he may have yet considered departing, a rattling cough came to his ears. Beneath the beam of what was once a building, ruined and charred. Several collapsed wood pieces lay there, obscuring anything under the pile from sight. Flecks of embers burned hotly atop it, though no active fire raged.

* * *

 

The Breton Vigilant wasted no time, and rushed over! He began digging through the embers with his bare fingers, scorching them as he dug, lifting a beam off of the ruins to try and get the last person free. He hoped beyond hope that they were still alive.

* * *

 

It was a strain, but the powerful former bandit would eventually find them in the rubble. The looks of a prisoner escaped, their hands still bound and their tiny body severely burned beneath the overly hot rubble.

A bosmer. Their body rattled with wet coughs, nearly sounding as if to be in the midst of their death throes. At their current state, they wouldn't last long at all. Between all the Imperials, escaped Stormcloaks, and people in rags.. this had been the only prisoner 'left alive.'

Was this the site of an execution interrupted?

* * *

 

He frowned at the idea, before pulling out the wood elf, quickly tending to their wounds. Golden light shines from his palms as he begins trying to mend them, hoping that he is not too late.

"Friend, just stay still. Please."

* * *

 

A fragile leaf, as it were, but the burns did not run deep from what he could tell. The death rattles were unsettling coming from one so small, so close to nothingness. Those misty eyes wavered, trained intently on the man's face.

They held a clarity, realization of what was being done. Charred lips mouthed something incoherent, and the bosmer slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

Their heart still beat, thundering loud beneath the paladin's steady grip. There was no way they could move on their own, but he'd done it.

He'd brought someone back from the brink of death.

* * *

 

The Breton exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. Of all the times he's healed people over the past several months, he's never had such a close call as just then, for she reached stability just as he ran out of his magicka.

A short prayer to Stendarr, for showing mercy to this bosmer, sprang from his lips. Then, the Vigilant would attempt to carefully pull the mer's diminutive form upwards, holding her over her shoulder in a fireman carry. He would retreat back to his horse, and carefully, oh so carefully, let her rest on the saddle. Bruccore would then take the reins on the horse, and begin leading the stubborn beast through Helgen, through the other gate.

"Riverwood isn't so far," he muttered. He knew that while the fragile leaf was in no danger of dropping dead this instant, the elf needed rest in a bed, with someone tending to them.

With a heart that has been burdened even further with the lives he could not save, and the death of an entire settlement, Bruccore Tailconis set forth, with the unconscious bosmer and his horse, down the road.

To Riverwood, and hopefully some sense of peace beyond that.

* * *

 

The path was trampled by the fleeing few, specks of blood and abandoned, burnt belongings dotting the main road and littering the paths elsewhere through the brush. It made for an incredibly chaotic sight, even if their owners had long since gone away.

However, where disaster strikes, scavengers are never too far behind. Embershard Mine was nestled just off the main road that Bruccore was trotting along, and he would slowly become aware of the rustling of fur and metal, and the taut sound of a bow being pulled tight.

He was about to be ambushed.

* * *

 

As he walked, his head was on a swivel. His ears were open. He heard the sound of a bow being pulled taut, and he knew what was about to happen.

Bruccore pretended to not notice. His magicka had regenerated, and he was ready for a fight. Then, his eyes were drawn to the burnt belongings on the side of the road.

The leftover bones from where vultures once struck.

His right hand balled into a fist, and with his left, he smacked the rear of his horse. Thankfully, it was a straight shot until Riverwood. As he slapped it's rear, he yelled out loud: "HIYAH!"

In the same movement, his right hand unballed itself, wisps of cyan energy now escaping from his palm. The Vigilant held his hand out in front of him, and a translucent blue barrier sprung to life in front of him, hopefully enough to stop the arrow.

* * *

 

Thanks to the Vigilant's quick thinking, the iron arrow bounced uselessly off the ward.

Shouts rallied from above. His noise and magicka had drawn the attention of the rest of them above, and a swarm of bandits poured down the small cliff in their attempt to chase the horse.

"Oh, I'm gonna LOVE countin' out your coin!" The more obvious beef of the crowd shouted, axe in hand.

They were quite quick, surprisingly so, but the horse was faster if he maintained pace.

* * *

 

Thankfully, this wasn't a Skyrim-bred horse. This horse was a holdover from his bandit days; one of the better Cyrodilic breeds. Therefore, it was faster than what most Nords might expect, at the cost of not being half mountain goat when it comes to slopes. But on an open, paved road?

Its pace was unmatched.

Bruccore yelled out a challenge, before tearing down the road after them. He managed to catch up to the slowest of the bunch quickly enough, and the Vigilant raised his mace high, the sun's rays glinting off the orcish metal, before he brought it down on the archer in the far back.

With a sound of shattering bone, the bandit's skull would burst like a melon, promptly collapsing into the mud.

Then, Bruccore yelled at them.

"COME NOW! SURELY YOU CANNOT HANDLE ONE THAT FIGHTS BACK?!"

* * *

 

It was the booming voice that reached them first.

The reaction was delayed, like bursting into a dark, empty chasm and watching the skeevers freeze in the light of a torch before they fled.

"Victory is yours! I submit!" The man with the dagger turned tail, brains splattering across his dirtied face at the impact. Terror blinked through his eyes, rushing off without so much as a second glance to his peers.

The archer was not so deterred. He rushed along the topside of the cliff, nocking another arrow and sending off another shot.

Though he didn't aim for the rider, this time.

* * *

 

Bruccore's eyes went wide, as he realized the archer was aiming for the injured person on his horse. Then, his blue eyes went to the man with the steel greatsword that was about to be brought down on him.

He raises his left hand, and a belch of flame escaped his palm, completely engulfing the man's head at near point-blank range. Only a short burst, but still devastating. Without checking to see if it killed the man, the Vigilant dropped his mace, and picked up the man's axe.

"Talos guide my arm!"

And then he **chucks** the axe at the archer, hoping to have the man's skull catch his axe.

* * *

 

The overeagerness was the end of that bandit, the flames suddenly consuming the front of his head and catching the fur hood aflame. It stuck viciously to hair and skin, searing them in agony. The bandit writhed on the path in terror and pain, wailing curses but knowing the Divines would not answer.

As Bruccore threw his axe, he felt an absurd surge of strength behind it, beyond what any mortal could have accomplished. For a brief moment, he felt as if he were able to move mountains.

The axe soared, cleaving through the surprised archer's face and sinking in nearly all the way through the skull. The body collapsed in a heap, bow clattering off the side of the small cliff edge.

The feeling of strength waned shortly after, but a deep revitalization remained in his spirit. It stirred in disturbing motions.

* * *

 

Bruccore gasped for air afterwards, taking only a small breather, before he picks up his mace, and walks over to the bandit who was still on the ground, curling in agony.

He raised his weapon, and ended the poor man's pain with a grim expression.

With a whistle, Bruccore called the horse back to him. Then, while waiting for the horse to return, he kneels, his hands clasped infront of him for a prayer.

"Talos, I thank you for the strength you bestowed upon me in my time of need."

"Arkay, may these souls be turned heavenwards, to Sovngarde, where the mead hall may welcome who they are, not who they are not."

"Stendarr, I thank you once more for the second chance you have given me. I shall continue doing my utmost to strive for perfection."

* * *

 

The blossom of approval in his bosom was the faintest indication that he had done right. They did not suffer needlessly.

The strength of spirit remained, returning endurance to him where exhaustion had previously set in.

It was ... wholly unnatural. It settled uncomfortably in him compared to what he knew to be the blessings of the Divines. His skin felt stretched thin, as if it did not belong to him. The surge of dysphoria screamed from within, and then slowly faded as the horse returned.

A stranger in his own body.

The bosmer on the horse remained unconscious, at least, no worse for wear than when he'd placed her.

* * *

 

Bruccore shifted uncomfortably in the dirt, unnerved by both his suddenly amazing endurance, and the dysphoria that had 'graced' him.

No, this was not the Divine's doing. They did not make him suffer needlessly so, especially if they were to grant him a boon in the same breath.

So _what_...?

"Hm," he huffed, before standing back up. As mysterious as this strength of spirit was, there was naught he could do about it now. He would keep an eye on it on the road to Riverwood, and only hope this unnatural stamina faded in time.

With that, he took the reins of the horse, examining the bosmer. With a self-satisfied nod, he continued.

 To Riverwood. And hopefully, to some sense of peace--and now, understanding--beyond.

* * *

 

Thankfully the rest of the trip was quiet. Wolves remained far and away from the travelling pair, as if warded off by something to make them so fearful.

Or perhaps out of respect to the bosmer? 

The entrance was dotted with a few patrolling guards wearing the garb of the local hold, one of which gave a wary nod to the man.

"By the gods. More injured? Better to see than the dead. Bless you, traveller." The nord's shaking voice spoke volumes for what he'd already seen.

And just within the village, an elderly woman's voice confirmed the man's fears.

"I'm telling you, there was a dragon. I saw a dragon. It flew-- it flew right over the old barrow!"

* * *

 

The Vigilant just nodded to the guard, briefly going back to a time when the sight of such an outfit would have prompted a hostile outlook from the former bandit. Then, he shook his head as if to clear it.

That life was over now. He wasn't 'Bruc, the Steel Mask'. He was Bruccore Tailconis, Vigilant of Stendarr. One who just wanted to repay for his sins.

His mask still hung on his belt.

Bruccore continued forth, his eyes flitting this way and that, hoping--beyond hope--that he could see a healer, anyone who can take care of the bosmer. Someone who's tending to the wounded.

* * *

 

Perhaps his prayers were answered quickly due to his good graces.

A near blackened man, a smith by the looks, was accompanied by his wife who were both looking after a somewhat injured Imperial soldier.

"Uncle, it was ... accursed, I swear it was real. It burned it all down. We're all in danger here..."

Slurred, but not far off. Burned in the face, one eye swollen shut. He was half-standing and speaking.

"By the gods... someone needs to get word to Whiterun at once. We're defenseless out here!"

The woman shook her head, spreading a wet looking balm over the burns. "Send someone to look for a courier, husband."

* * *

 

Bruccore led the horse over, and looked to the smith, his wife, and the Imperial soldier.

"Pardon me. I could not help but overhear. You need a courier to tell Whiterun, yes?"

He kneels before the soldier, and his palms open with golden energy. It begins flowing into the Imperial soldier, healing wounds and burns.

* * *

 

The smith raised his head, suddenly a prayer coming to his lips at the sight of the healer. "Talos bless you, stranger..." 

The woman gave him a hard look, but it melted quickly. Clearly she agreed.

"Auntie Sigrid? Uncle Alvor?" The injured soldier rasped, then breathed in deeply as restoration washed over him. The eye opened.

"Who on... oh, you! I saw you... helping the injured at Helgen!"

'Alvor' turned his head, grim. "Kind traveller, you have our utmost gratitude. If there's anything we can do... we would be eternally thankful. We must get word to the Jarl immediately. All of Whiterun... it's in danger."

* * *

 

"Worry not. I have a fast horse, and the road's still paved to Whiterun. I can get there before day's end." He smiles at the three.

"But," his smile falls, "if you have dried foods that you would be willing to part with, I would be very thankful. I was hoping to resupply in Helgen, but..." a hefty sigh sprang from hips lips, then he looked back up at 'Alvor'.

"As well as...do you have a spare bed? I have the last of the injured. She's still unconscious, but her wounds are mostly healed. She just needs rest, water. If not, then I can bring her to the Temple of Kynareth, in Whiterun. But if you could take her..." a hopeful tone escaped him.

The trip would be slower if he had to ride with an injured person, and this occasion required all due haste.

* * *

 

It was then that Sigrid had taken notice of the frail bosmer. Her eyes hardened and she nodded at once.

"My husband can see that you are supplied for the trip there. We do not have an extra bed, but I can see to it that she's safe in the local inn." An offering of their own resources, in fact.

Alvor vocally agreed. "Yes. Take what you need, friend, with me. I cannot express my thanks enough."

Hadvar, testing the strength of his spirits now, rose and moved along with Sigrid to help carefully pull the woman off the horse.

* * *

 

"Thank you, friends." He helps them get the bosmer woman off the horse, before he goes to follow Alvor inside.

He was still uncomfortable with this sudden strength of spirit that happened when he prayed to Talos in combat. Why was it still present? Why did this stirring in his breast continue to make him feel nearly indefatigable? Like he can blow through mountains with sheer stamina?

Why wasn't he tired, despite exerting his magicka fully **twice** today?

He silently prayed to Julianos for the wisdom to find the answers to his questions.

* * *

 

Though normally stalwart in presence and encouraging of the atoning man's path of wisdom in restoration, any call for answers remained silent.

Alone, as if he were expected to already know the answer. The dysphoria came in gentle waves as he spoke again, his tongue thick in his mouth. It made him nearly wish to shout to the heavens.

What an odd impulse. His throat burned.  

Alvor, of course, was gracious. He offered a full waterskin and various dried jerkies that had berries pounded into them, and a few choice looking carrots. As well as offering a precious and rare healing potion, mild as it was.

* * *

 

Bruccore would deny the healing potion, telling the smith to keep it for the hard days to come. He could heal himself, so there was no need. However, he did graciously accept the dried jerkies, the carrots, and the waterskin. The Vigilant smiled at Alvor as they walked back outside.

"May Talos guard you, and may Zenithar bless your business."

With those surprising words said, he had to physically keep himself from trying to shout to the heavens. Why did he want his presence to be so known? Why did his throat burn like he was aching to speak, despite the fact that he was already doing so?

Bruccore beat a hasty retreat on his horse after saying his farewells and thank-you's. He rode out of Riverwood, out onto the road. He waited until he was about to start down the slope towards Whiterun's plains that he finally gave in.

He yelled, with all his might, towards the heavens.

* * *

 

The wind around him whipped into a frenzy.

He shouted, and the Sky heard him. His horse was spurred on, and the call echoed and reverberated off the very land. It shook him to his core, and he would realize he was suddenly descending incredibly fast.

Even his horse had been touched by this incredible stamina, as if shared with the release of his great breath. His soul was singing in a cacophony of sheer relief at the noise, stretching itself out and near bursting.

It was a light headed ecstacy, as the approval of the heavens embraced him.

The praise of Kyne.

* * *

 

He was feeling very light-headed all of a sudden. Giddy, almost. So it took him a while to realize how fast he was running.

And then, he began laughing in euphoria, before cringing in hate as the dysphoria gripped him tighter than ever before. His eyes were widened, then squinted, as he worked on trying to control his horse as they positively <strong>BLAZED</strong> past Honingbrew Meadery, past the farmers. He noticed a giant in the distance, fighting some people wearing metal and furs.

So he did what 'any' self respecting Vigilant would do when they're the fastest being in Skyrim, while having both the highest high and the lowest low in their entire lives.

He brought his mace out, raced past the farmers who were keeping their distance, and tried to ride-by kneecap the giant with his orcish, wind-infused mace.

What on Nirn was _happening_?

* * *

 

The soul roared with challenge at the sight of the beast. Alas, the poor giant hadn't seen it coming as it had been soundly occupied by arrows and steel.

By the time it realized, it had been too late. The nightmare upon horseback collided with the giant, the orcish mace letting out a thunderous CRACK upon impacting vulnerable flesh. The kneecap burst out in a well of blood and broken bone, the tremendous being howling in pain as it collapsed to the earth.

 The Companions scattered at the blurred view of the roaring man -- when had he been roaring? -- shock and awe etched deep in their features.

A terror. And a Vigilant, they quickly realized.

* * *

 

The horse leapt over another stone wall, and Bruccore realized...he was roaring.

Since when did he roar?

He quickly tried his best to reign the beast in, and turn it towards the stables. His very being roared out, but he did his best to stamp it down. His willpower came into play as he tried to just slow down. Slow down...

Breathe.

Breathe. Focus. You can calm the tempest within yourself, he muttered. He can control himself.

He was no beast. He was Bruccore Tailconis, Vigilant of Stendarr. He is a Vigilant, not a beast that rides off of a high and a low.

Similarly, he told himself that he was not ugly. This dysphoria had no place in his breast. He had to love himself, as Lady Mara loved him. He was not flawed and ugly and an imperfect form. His form was his alone, and Lady Dibella herself knew that one should love one's own form.

* * *

 

The Companions watched the roaring Vigilant turn away, the singular man among them calling out in a shocked tone.

"Do you see that?"

The huntress did not respond to him, looking past the corpse to the retreating man. She knew a beast when she saw one, but it was unlike any she'd ever felt or seen in battle. The tremendous call to war was as if peering into the face of destruction.

Green eyes narrowed upon the mask at his hip.

"He will come to us, in time." With that, she turned from the corpse. They had a bounty to claim.

* * *

 

Finally calming down enough at the stables, he dismounts his horse, tossing a coin purse at the stable hand for him to take care of the probably exhausted beast. Then, he manages to run to the gate, silently praying to both Kyne and Talos as to...what that was.

* * *

 

The stablemaster was happy to accept the money, but equally so bewildered at the horse's exhaustion. What matter of devil had this traveler been trying to flee from?

The steps up to Whiterun were far less exciting, though there were a myriad of troops and guards patrolling the wall compared to the usual.

Did they know...?

By the time he reached the gate, a guard stopped him.

"Halt. The city's closed off, with the rumor of dragons floating about. State your business quickly."

* * *

 

“I am Bruccore Tailconis, Vigilant of Stendarr. I come from Riverwood, and they ask for the Jarl’s aid as Helgen was destroyed by a dragon.” He stated quickly, cutting to the chase.

He did not want to waste any more time outside. He needed to get in. The Jarl _needed_ to know.

* * *

 

The other guard jumped into action, shouting, "OPEN THE GATES!" before the first man could answer.

And then he did, hurried, horrified. "Get in, quickly! Up to Dragonsreach at once with you, traveler. Kynareth bless you!"

* * *

 

Bruccore thanked the gate guard--and then he ran.

He ran, and ran, and ran. He ran past the imperial soldier talking to the smith. He ran past the market stalls, past the jewelry and fresh vegetables and fresher game.

He ran past the withered Gildergreen, past the home of the Companions, past the shrine to Talos, past the temple of Kynareth, and up the stairs.

The Vigilant bolted all the way up to Dragonsreach, all but throwing open the large oaken door.

* * *

 

Shouts of surprise followed him, with his significant rush and garb. The sight of a Vigilant speeding through town at nearly supernatural levels was frightening enough...

Some people thought perhaps a daedra or vampire attack was headed to town. Egads! Perhaps that was where all the rumors of dragons were coming from, then...

Surely not actual dragons, some whispered, that would be ... absurd.

The doors swung open and the guards startled, making no significant move yet.

A deep bellow stirred in his belly again, rife with purpose, as he would ascend the steps. Only the dunmer stood in his path --

"What is the meaning of this intrusion? Explain yourself at once. The Jarl is not entertaining guests."

* * *

 

At once, the Vigilant--bowed? He bowed, and placed his fist over his heart.

"My apologies. But Riverwood calls for the Jarls' aid, as Helgen has been destroyed."

That stirring in his belly. He was growing to both like it, and -despise- it. Bruccore mentally tried to stomp down on that bellow. No. He gave in to it once. He would not again. He could not let this inner...THING of his get the better of him.

* * *

 

"Stand down, Irileth. Let the man speak for himself to me."

An uncomfortable silence permeated the throne room, the Jarl's commanding tone striking an impetuous weariness.

For the moment, the quivering need was cowed beneath his will. It was both alien and familiar, and ached to be heard.

The dunmer sheathed her sword with a grunted "fine, then," returning to the side of the man on his throne.

Though his posture spoke of an innate swagger to him, his expression spoke all the more of his exhaustion and troubles.

The two advisors, imperial and nord, took on a stand offish countenance.

* * *

 

Bruccore knew who this man was. The Jarl. But not just any Jarl.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater, of Whiterun.

There was a very specific reason why 'Bruc the Steel Mask' never raided Whiterun's plains, and the man sitting on the throne was that very reason.

The Vigilant Bruccore Tailconis approached, continuing to keep that need cowed under his will. This was not the time, nor the place.

Duty came first.

He approached just beyond the steps to the throne, before bowing.

"I apologize once more for my interruption, my Jarl. Riverwood has sent me as a courier. They ask for aid, for a dragon was seen flying over them, towards this direction. The same dragon, I am afraid..." A pause, as he collected his thoughts.

"The dragon has destroyed Helgen, my Jarl. The survivors number between four and six, at the most. The only thing that still stands is the outer wall."

* * *

 

Jarl Balgruuf was aware of this man. It had been of no small significance when bounties were claimed and the Vigilant order laid claim to a man once thought to be a monster in myth and legend.

Though he had never encroached in his Hold, the Jarls that were his neighbors were quick to rattle at his gates to send word should the masked beast be spotted within his walls or without.

Fingers pressed together. An air of uncertainty, though he did not delay his line of questions.

"So, you were at Helgen, then. And you're sure this wasn't some... Stormcloak raid gone wrong? You saw this dragon with your own two eyes?"

* * *

 

"I did. It was a black beast, bigger than a burial mound. It flew over Riverwood, and over the mountain range to its northwest. I went down into the town itself after it had left, to try and heal those who had remained..."

He shook his head.

"There's nothing left. Just bones and ashes and dust."

* * *

 

"By Ysmir..."

It took a moment to set in. A dragon, a real dragon, just as the scout report from Irilieth had confirmed for him. The dunmer to his left didn't so much as look his way or loft her brow, stoic as the coldest glaciers in the north.

It was her own version of an 'I told you so.'

"Irilieth was right," he began gravely, turning to his advisor on the right, "What say you now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

The dunmer finally moved, a boulder shifting in place. "My lord... we must send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if the dragon is lurking in the mountains by the Barro--"

The squirming Imperial quickly cut her off, distressed, "The Jarl of Falkreath will view it as a provocation! He would sooner assume we were preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack, we should NOT--"

The booming command of the interjected, with a steady **"ENOUGH!"**

The advisors all flinched at once, save for his right hand in Irileth.

"I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. Irileth. Send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

Immediately, she saluted. "... Yes, my Jarl."

There was a significant, awkward silence as the woman strode up the steps behind the throne. Finally, the sneering man spoke again. "... If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."

Balgruuf did not even so much as grace the man with a glance his way. "That would be best."

In the silence, he was left alone. Bruccore, and the Jarl, face to face.

* * *

 

Bruccore watched the two take their leave, and found himself face-to-face with one of the most powerful men in Skyrim. A lesser man may have shriveled away, tried to become a mouse in a room full of sabre cats.

He was no lesser man.

"My Jarl," he began, his words strong, but respectful, "is there anything more I can do to aid the hold? I cannot in good conscious leave while there is more that can be done."

The tales of 'Bruc, the Steel Mask' were ones of ruthless efficiency, a tactical mastermind overcome by greed. Yet, the man standing here could not have been the same, for he did not even ask for a reward. If anything, he asked if there was -more he could do-, despite the fact that he could let things be as they are. He delivered his message, he fulfilled his duty.

But he was not about to stand by and watch as innocent people suffered.

* * *

 

It became clear the Jarl Balgruuf the Greater was sizing him up as the significant flash upwards and down of his eyes. It was as if he were tasting the truth of his words, the mettle in the significance of his arrival.

He was not too proud. Not for a former bandit, a beast among men. The Divines blessed all those who returned to their bosom, after all. Stendarr especially was one of a merciful justice.

Though this one... there was something about him that sent an uneasy tension through him. Balgruuf chose to mince his words carefully.

"Perhaps... there is another thing you could do, to serve this city. Suitable for one of your particular," the eyes flashed again, "... talents perhaps. However, what you have done for my people cannot be left unsaid. You sought me out, saved our people, all of your own initiative. You have done Whiterun a service, and I will not forget it. I will have one of my stewards fetch a reward befitting such a thing before you depart."

The man rose from the throne, to his impressively intimidating height. As with most nords.

"Come, let us find Farengar, my court wizard. He has been looking into these ... rumors of dragons."

'Rumors' no longer, it seemed.

* * *

 

"Thank you, my Jarl."

With a nod, the Vigilant followed the Jarl behind. Not too closely, but not lagging behind either. He could feel the eyes of the guards on him, and knew to keep his hands where they can be seen.

That was not his life anymore. Not his name. Not anymore. He had been shown mercy by the grace of Stendarr, and he planned on returning that mercy to whoever would accept it.

His eyes wandered around Dragonsreach, a place he admittedly thought he would never live to see...save for if he was bound by chains.

Bruccore's eyes wandered back to that giant dragon skull above the throne. He squinted. The black dragon he saw must have been several times larger.

Then, his eyes went back down to Nirn. He pulled his hood back, revealing a more clearly seen face. The Vigilant was weathered, with scars over his visage--an especially prominent one was over his lips. His hair was jet black, but streaked with grey. Perhaps out of both age and stress.

* * *

 

"Farengar!"

At the Jarl's call, the wizard jumped in place and skittered back behind his desk. Apparently he had been doing his fair share of snooping, but now attempted to regain some composure and act as if he had been Researching this whole time. Clearly.

"Yes, my Jarl."

The man gave the other a bit of a stern look, causing some significant withering. "I believe I've found someone who can help you with your... dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in."

Not so much as a 'farewell,' and the Jarl returned to his duties. Well then.

Farengar shot the former bandit a look. Unlike the others, he was far more obvious in his leery distrust. The wizard had recognized him immediately.

"So. The Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? He must be referring to the fact that I required ... a sturdy pair of hands to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not even be there."

The man clasped his hands together, "Said dungeon being the Barrow where the dragon you spoke of was last spotted."

* * *

 

He raised an eyebrow at Farengar's jumpy nature. He did not comment on the leery distrust. Then, Bruccore just...nodded.

"And this stone tablet is probably guarded at the end of this Barrow, _probably_ by undead draugr."

Another nod.

"What does it look like?"

* * *

 

"Ah, you have a keen edge to you, then. Not like the other brutes the Jarl sends my way." There's a nervous little laugh at the end there, punctuated by a soft wheeze at the end and a cough. 

Right.

"I had learned of the stone through my research, as I said, housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. It is called a Dragonstone, and is said to have a map of all the dragon burial sites in Skyrim etched upon it. Past that, I am unsure."

With that, the wizard waved his hand. "Do what you must before you travel, but I would advise you be as swift as you can. The pressure of the rumor of dragons becoming a reality has increased the priority of my research."

* * *

 

The Vigilant nodded.

“My horse is still exhausted from the ride here, so I will set out at dawn’s break. I will get you your stone.”

And with that, and a respectful nod, he left the wizard. He went ahead and left Dragonsreach, with a new quest in mind.

After a moment of thought, he decided to go down to the Cloud District, and rest for a moment under the Gildergreen. He had wanted to see it for some months now.

* * *

 

The Gildergreen...

A withered, hollow mess, in the middle of Whiterun. It was dying, ever so slowly. Not a leaf on the barren tree remained. Most people did not seem to take notice to it in the square, leading the man to make the assumption that it had been this way for quite some time.

And not far off, the priest screamed the praises of Talos.

* * *

 

Bruccore frowned as he looked up to the withered tree, before his eyes caught the door to the Temple of Kynareth. He debated something mentally, before he decided to stand up, and walk over to enter the Temple.

Once inside, he would look about, before trying to gather the attention of a priest, and ask why the tree was all withered.

* * *

 

Danica Clear-Spring was used to a few odd pilgrims and travelers now and again, but this one was ... new. Different. Kynareth graced her with an odd sort of wind as the doors blew open, clarity guiding her words.

Such a frank telling was not something she would often give out to mere strangers.

"Ah... the Gildergreen, yes. It's a shame, isn't it. A bit of an eyesore at the moment. Moreso a problem to pilgrims than anything else. We don't really know what happened to it... fallen asleep, likely."

* * *

 

"'Fallen asleep'?" The Vigilant mulled over these words, his mind clearly trying to work out what she meant by that. Then, with a slow nod, he continued.

"Is there anything we can do to wake it up, then?"

'We'. Was this stranger, who's mere presence brought forth odd winds from Lady Kyne, willing to assist with reviving the Gildergreen?

* * *

 

Indeed, it surprised her. Her eyes went wide, and then it hooded in significant thought. "I... think if we had the sap from the mother, we could wake up its child, yes. But even so, there is no way you could tap even a portion of the Eldergleam with any normal metal."

Her head shook, in deep consideration. "... if you want to do so, you will need something capable of it. Though, such a dangerous task. You would have to deal with Hagravens. I had heard horrific tales of sacrificial weapons they use for spriggrans. This 'Nettlebane' would be the best tool, if you are serious about helping. It was last spoken of being seen at a nest called Orphan's Rock."

The tone in her voice darkened, "... hagravens terrify me, or I would have gone after it myself. As well, there are too many sick and injured from the war here."

She was right, of course. Many injured littered the temple, mainly soldiers.

* * *

 

He nodded, surprisingly serious. The Vigilant of Stendarr pulls out a map of Skyrim, and unrolls it.

"Could you point me towards this Orphan's Rock? If I come anywhere close in my travels, I will do my best to retrieve Nettlebane and return here."

* * *

 

"Here, let me show you." The tender priest moved towards the man without fear, a small quill procured from within her pocket to scratch out a place on the map for him. Not an insignificant amount of travel.

It would probably be wise to help with the dragons first... but if his travel took him in that direction, it wouldn't be a bad idea, would it?

* * *

 

It wouldn't be, at all. And if the dragon situation can get under control, or it becomes larger than him alone to deal with, then he can get Nettlebane.

"I thank you. Should my travels take me near, I shall confront the hagravens, and retrieve it. Now, I must go. I thank you, for letting a mere stranger assist on such an important matter." He...bows. Much better manners than the average rough-and-tumble Nord.

"May Kynareth grant you soft breezes in your future, priestess."

* * *

 

"Your spirit is strong, friend of the wind. Kynareth will guide your path." The Priestess gave a blessing of her own in turn, bowing fully and sincerely to the stranger that had graced her presence in the temple.

It was so full strange, wasn't it? The wind seemed to go with him in his departure.

Bruccore felt an inkling of approval in his breast, a significant improvement over the day's jarring new developments within him.

* * *

 

And a welcome one, nonetheless. Bruccore decides that, now that the sun is nearly down, that he needs to indulge just a bit.

In other words, he could absolutely murder an ale right now. Or mead. Mead sounds -really- good.

Thankfully, his drinking habits was one of the 'easier' habits to get under control after he became a Vigilant, so he limits himself to just one a day, if that. But right now, with the lingering dysphoria, the Vigilant could absolutely go for a mead.

And with that, he heads to the Bannered Mare, for mead and hopefully song from a good bard.

* * *

 

It was near sundown, so by then the Mare was PACKED to the brim. Nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.

The bard was already playing a tune, in fact, strumming on his lute with a practiced ease. A sleazy grin graces his lips as he leaned in toward one of the patrons seated at a chair.

The poor woman looked ready to rip her hair out and scream, and he seemed to catch the picture and move off.

For the moment.

The clear owner of the inn lifted her head, snapping a voice to a nearby Redguard.

"Wake up, Saadia! We have another one." Oh, that meant service already.

"Yes, mum." She crossed through the crowds of already drinking men and women, reaching the sight of the weary traveler.

"Want a drink?" The woman dryly inquired, brow raised.

"A bottle of mead and a meal would do me wonders, ma'am." He smiles, though out of respect, not the same sleazy grin the bard wore. His eyes catch only one empty chair...

The one next to the woman that the bard seemed to be hitting on.

First, he drops by the counter to pay for mead, a meal, and a room for one night. Then, with that done (and his coinpurse now lighter than what he'd like), he approaches the woman that seemed ready to scream.

"My apologies, but, ah, do you mind if I sit here? Not many other places to sit, mind."

* * *

 

Saadia was quick to oblige, dry witted and glib as she was. A hefty bowl of spiced horker stew and honeyed mead. The perfect combination, at that, and she threw in a portion of bread for it as well.

The woman did not seem to mind, uttering a quiet, "Hmm? Sure thing." Exhaustion passed over her features, mainly seeming to watch what was likely her daughter eat a bowl of soup and chat with another local girl.

* * *

 

His eyes caught on to the young girl, and then how this woman was looking at said young girl. He could see the familial bond almost immediately.

With a fond smile, he digs in to the spiced horker stew and the honeyed mead. They complimented each other well, and it was infinitely better than the slop they had in the camps after a raid, or a trail ration.

After a moment, he pulls his hood down, revealing his black hair with streaks of grey in it. Then, his eyes go back to the bard, then to the young girl who was excitedly chatting with another local, and then back to the woman.

He stayed silent for now. Though he knew he would like to make conversation, the poor woman must have been exhausted from both caring for her daughter, and fending off the advances of the Nord bard.

So he stayed quiet, and just hoped his large presence would ward off the Nord and give her some semblance of peace.

* * *

 

It worked, significantly so. As the evening waned to night, the woman steadily relaxed. By the time her daughter was fit to go home, it had been utter peace and quiet.

As she moved to depart, sleeping child in arms, she gave the Vigilant a passing look.

"You have a good night."

A woman of few words, but acknowledgement of his deed. The inn was nearly empty now as she left. 

It was likely a good time for him to rest, too... 

* * *

 

With a small nod, and an uttering of "Lady Mara bless you and your daughter", he waved them off. Then, with a sigh, he sat up, stretching as he cracked his back. Then, fishing out the key he was given, he went up to his own room, and unlocked it, entering, and locking it behind him. 

The knapsack was dropped at the foot of the bed, and his coin purse on the dresser. A quick prayer to the Nine was uttered, in thanks for their mercy and their aid in the day. Then, he took off his dusty armor and robes, only in his smallclothes. With that, he entered his bed, and slept.

* * *

 

Unfortunately, sleep was not entirely restful.

He dreamed of the sky, soaring through it. How wonderful it was, full of power, to finally stretch his wings and have the whole of Nirn laid out before him. It was awe inspiring. Addicting.

Everything he could have wanted. His spirit screamed for it, for the sky.

And then it was gone.  He would awaken, just as much a man as before. His throat burned, tightened, and a powerful grief struck him somberly long into morning.


	2. Morndas, 28th of Last Seed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the day late! Here's your second chapter! Fixed the formatting this time, so it's not just a giant wall of text.

He woke up--

 

And felt like absolute shit.

 

The Vigilant rubbed his face, trying to snap himself out of it as much as arouse himself from sleep. Then, he brought his hands away from his face.

 

Was he crying? Why was he crying from a dream where he thought he was a dragon? This...this did not make any sense. The incident from yesterday where he had a high better than a mountain of moon sugar could give him, and a lower lower than the deepest trenches of the Ghost Sea.

 

He stumbled out of bed, hurriedly pulling on his robes and armor. With a guttural grunt, Bruccore tried to ignore the -need- to shout to the heavens, and he hauled his knapsack over his back, grabbing his coin pouch, before heading out.

 

He left the key on the front desk, laying on top of a septim. With that, Bruccore Tailconis faced another day.

 

Hopefully this one wouldn't be as -event filled- as yesterday.

 

Idly, he wondered if every eventful day of his life was going to make him want to die.

 

He went to the stables, and went to pick up his horse.

 

* * *

 

After hours of rest, his horse was much revitalized. It did not have nearly the same rough night as he did, that much was significantly clear.

 

The skies rolled with dark clouds, but did not yet threaten rain. His bones did not ache with a significant warning of shifting cold and heat.

 

It was a good a time as any to travel back north toward the Barrow.

 

* * *

 

With a grim expression, he began riding to the Barrow.

 

And about three quarters of the way there, he realizes he forgot to buy magicka potions.

 

With a hefty sigh, he turned to Riverwood, and rode back in.

 

* * *

 

There was no local alchemist as far as he could tell, the sleepy town still waking up and the early risers already seen setting about their work at the Mill and farm. There was, however, a general store that already appeared to be open at this early house.

 

The Riverwood Trader.

 

Even as the man approached, he could hear hushed, angry voices inside.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore dismounted, sighing through his nose as he heard the angry voices from inside. All he needed were some magicka potions.

 

And so, he entered.

 

* * *

 

"-- no adventures, no danger, no ruins, nothing! No thief or claw is worth my sister's life!" The two bretons stared each other down, then turned their heads immediately upon the entrance of a customer.

 

The man flustered, trying to straighten himself out. "Oh, pardon me, I, ah... welcome to the Riverwood Trader, traveler!"

 

* * *

 

"Thank you." Bruccore walks up to the counter, and looks around.

 

"You wouldn't happen to have magicka potions, would you?" Bruccore thinks about it. Mulls it over. Then, he adds:

 

"...and may I ask what this was about a claw?"

 

* * *

 

"Mmh, we have an assortment you can look over on the shelf over here, I'd be happy to answer any questions you have!"

 

And then he asked the other one.

 

The Breton looked uncomfortable. "Well, yes, we did have a bit of a break in... still got plenty left to sell! They were only after this golden, ornate claw..."

 

The sister of the two frowned dourly.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore goes over to the shelf, examining his wares, before gingerly picking up three potions of minor magicka, as that's all his coin purse could afford right now. Bringing them back, he set them on the counter.

 

"...do you know where these thieves went?" He hoped they weren't in some place like Hammerfell by now.

 

* * *

 

Straight to the point, then. The siblings didn't so much as have a chance to argue again about who was doing what.

 

"I can show you," the woman eagerly piped up, "you'll need a guide."

 

His expression contorted into horror, " _Absolutely not!_ I told you, no theatrics, no adventures, no diving into your death, Camilla!"

 

Despite the distress, he did accept the coin and gave the helpful man a desperate, pleading expression. It was clearly laced with worry.

 

* * *

 

He gives the man a respectful, 'don't worry about it' nod, and looks to the sister.

"I have to go to Bleak Falls Barrow first, if you don't mind..."

 

* * *

 

The woman opened her mouth, then closed it. "Oh. That's where I saw those thieves go, actually. Right up the side of the mountain." So much for a guide if he already knew the way. Sheepish, she looked down.

 

The Breton relaxed. "I know you want to help, sister, but I can't lose you. They're screaming about dragons out there for pity's sake!"

 

* * *

 

"Unfortunately, your brother's right. There may be dragons out there, and...after what they did to Helgen..." The Vigilant paused, letting his words sink in, before he looks back up.

 

"I'll keep an eye out for your claw while I'm out there, sir. Thank you for your wares, and may Zenithar bless you." With those words said, he left.

 

And decided, hey, why not go to the inn? He wanted to see how that bosmer is doing.

 

* * *

 

"Bless you too, stranger ..."

 

The Bretons were left to ponder the odd kindness of that stranger for their part.

 

The inn was sparse at this time of the morning, the town drunk not even awake yet from his stupor the evening before.

 

As he entered, he was graced with a welcome sight of the bosmer quite alive and well, plucking a bow string and speaking with an older, blonde woman.

 

"You're welcome to come back and see me, kiddo," the stern woman's address was softened, then immediately hardened again upon catching sight of Bruccore.

 

"Ah. So you're that wanderer that's been poking about, saving lives. We owe quite a lot to you. This one hasn't stopped asking questions."

 

The bosmer had lifted her head now, brown eyes huge and wide upon the Vigilant.

 

* * *

 

The Breton smiled, warmly, at the innkeeper and innkeeper.

 

"That would be me, I suppose." His blue eyes drift down to the mer.

 

"And it's good to see you up and about. You were the closest of all those I managed to heal. I'm...actually amazed how quickly you're up."

 

* * *

 

"Thank yourself for that one," the man behind the counter grunted, "your restoration is what really did the trick. Delphine. I'm going to fetch that 'thing.'"

 

How ominous. "Sure thing, Orgnar." Her eyes narrowed to slits, watching the bosmer slowly rise from her feet. As if she expected something to happen any second now.

 

And there it was. The bosmer dropped to her knees in front of the paladin, head to the ground. "You saved my life," the frail voice eeked out, growing in strength, "by my clan's rites, I serve you now, until the debt is repaid. Please allow me to accompany you!"

 

That tingling feeling from within leapt up to the top of his breath, almost overtaking it. _Servitude. Power._ An impulse to simply take the slave immediately and be grateful for it. It was slimy and greedy.

 

* * *

 

His surprise at her actions nearly let that impulse overtake him, before he squashed it with his customary will. No, he will _not_ take a slave.

 

Stendarr as his witness, he will **_NEVER_ ** force someone to do what they don't want to do.

 

But, he looked down at her...and he kneeled.

 

"Please raise your head. I do not need someone who blindly follows me. Can I...you know. At least ask for your name first?"

 

* * *

 

At this eye level, he saw the contorted terror in her eyes as she lifted her head and spotted the mask at his belt.

 

It was beyond the surface-level recognition. This was the expression of a woman wronged by his hands, loss and grief stricken across her features like a crashing tidal wave. Her voice cracked, lost.

 

She swallowed.

 

"... Liu Rey," she spoke in a wavering voice, "My name is Liu Rey, sir. I do not follow blindly. It is b-by my clan's rites. I must. I owe it."

 

* * *

 

And his eyes followed hers, down to the mask. He looks back up, and recognizes her almost instantly.

 

It was a day of great fire. They raided the bosmer clan's camp at night, raining down arrows of fire before they moved in. The men were slaughtered, the women were brought back to their own camp. And the children...

 

They were left for the wolves.

 

Bruccore's eyes squinted shut, and he breathes deeply. Then, he opens his eyes, and looks into her eyes.

 

"Liu Rey. If you...-truly- wish to follow me on my travels, then I will not stop you. However, if you are to travel with me, it shall be as an -equal-. I am...I am not the -beast- I once was. No amount of apologies can..." He sighs again, mournfully.

 

"I have changed, from then. I am a Vigilant of Stendarr now, and by His mercy I shall strive to make reparations. Even if it takes longer than my lifetime to do so."

 

* * *

 

He may have noticed by then he had been left alone with the poor bosmer, the two employees of the inn having vanished into a side room to do-- something or another. There was rustling and whispers.

 

Confusion, terror, disbelief. It was hard to parse through the myriad emotions that coursed through her face. Her hands clasped together. _Y'ffre, give her strength._

 

"I do not worship your gods," she spoke in a low voice, "but my life... I still owe it to you. A second time now." Punctuated by pain. Strain.

 

Spared the first time. Merciful. And saved the next.

 

"Y'ffre will be the judge. When the debt is repaid... you will know." Her voice ran hollow.

 

* * *

 

"Let them be the judge. And if you find that I ever try to return to those days..." His eyes are grim and serious.

 

"Then I ask that you put an arrow through my heart, and end me. I would rather die than return to that life."

 

* * *

 

_He would rather die._

 

Weariness was evident in her expression, but she dared not voice her doubts allowed. "I am a good shot," was all she stated for now, eyes low.

 

The same ugliness that reared its head before seemed to attune well enough to his thoughts, as if it indeed dwelled within his own spirit. _Mine,_ it declared, greedy still. A protective and ferocious thing, near animalistic. Directed only by his own thoughts, as if trying to teach a newborn child.

 

Delphine returned moments later, with heavy fur cloaks and a loaded backpack. A cooking pot? A bed roll?

 

"I know you're headed up to the Barrow, stranger. And I can't exactly keep her from going with you," her tongue clicked, "but at least accept these. You'll catch your death up there otherwise. Neither of you are exactly _Nords..._ "

 

* * *

 

_No, she is no one's to -own-._

 

Bruccore struggled mentally, telling off the animalistic part of him like a child telling off a parent. Then, the Vigilant looked over to Delphine...and smiled.

 

"Thank you for your charity. I wish there was only some way I could repay you..."

 

* * *

 

"Keep doing what you do, Vigilant. We could use more like you in these troubled times." The weathered woman placed his hands at her hips, nodding as Liu had stood to eagerly accepted and clasp one of the fur cloaks on.

 

It was surprisingly how easily the stringy little thing was able to strap the backpack to herself, having no apparent issue with the heft. "Already packed it earlier. With things," she nodded to Bruccore with a short look.

 

* * *

 

The fellow Breton nodded.

 

“Thank you.” He watched as Liu put it on, having no trouble with the heft of it. The practical side of him was glad that she didn’t have trouble with heavy lifting. Then, his eyes went to the bow on her back.

 

A bosmer archer would be an excellent companion on his travels. And maybe, just maybe...

 

If he can protect her, maybe he can make it up to her dear clan.

“Now. Are you ready to leave now, Liu, or do you wish to buy something at the general store before we go?”

 

* * *

 

The proprietor of the Inn returned to fixing up the dining area with the help of Orgnar, leaving the two of them to begin their journey on their own time.

 

Liu burrowed her brows just a touch, pressing the large fur cloak close to the man in offering. "I... already got stuff, earlier."

 

* * *

 

Bruccore...pushes the fur cloak back.

 

"I can get one at the general store. You hold on to that. In that case, we're, ah...going somewhere dangerous, first." He gave her a thin smile.

 

"To Bleak Falls Barrow. For an ancient-dragon related stone that may or may not actually be there."

 

* * *

 

"That is fine." The cloak was pushed back at him. "Take. There's two." _Oh._ She was already snug like a rug in the massive bearskin cloak of her own. She was offering another one to him, sleek and dark.

 

"Dragon related stone?"

 

Elsewhere in the inn, Delphine's eyes narrowed.

 

* * *

 

He nods, and gratefully takes it, putting it on.

 

"Yes. The court wizard sent me to retrieve it from there. Said it might help against the dragons, for his research."

 

* * *

 

"Now, if you're wounded, I can heal you for this trip. So if you -are- wounded...please let me know?" Bruccore opens the door, and holds it open for her.

 

The bosmer marched right on out, now so much as acknowledging his statement at first. She jogged down the steps, then turned up towards him. "You did heal me," she stated plainly, then turned down towards the road.

 

This was going to be an awkward companionship.

 

* * *

 

Truth be told, Bruccore would rather it be like this than her being all buddy-buddy at first.

 

"I mean...for the future. If you get injured in the Barrow, I can heal you again." He closes the tavern door, and all but races to keep up.

 

For such a short elf, she sure had a long stride.

 

* * *

 

Tiny but well versed in travel, that was for sure. Her eyes fell upon the horse, staring intently at it.

 

"This one is yours?" She called out to him.

 

* * *

 

"Yes. Though since we're going up a mountain, I suggest we don't take him. He's not that good with slopes."

 

He remembers that bosmers have some sort of connection to beasts, and hopes that the horse isn't telling her about yesterday.

 

* * *

"Probably for the best. He's pretty tired." The bosmer marched on away from him, down the road. Her brows crinkled out of sight.

 

Liu Rey wasn't about to give away any nugget of odd information just yet, even if the poor thing DID tell her.

 

* * *

 

He managed to catch up to her fully, and kept his head on a swivel. He watched for any wolves, or bandits that might attack. The Vigilant wasn't worried for draugr...

 

Yet.

 

* * *

 

Yet.

 

The bridge was uneventful, as was the trip up the left path. Once more, he could hear the sounds of wolves... but they never made their attack. How strange.

 

This time, Liu felt the need to speak up. "... Weird," she muttered, flicking a rock across the stone path.

 

* * *

 

"What's weird? The wolves?" He kept an eye on where he thought they were, and his right hand drifted down to his mace.

 

But he did not draw it just yet.

 

"They're terrified," she continued, voice soft, "as if shrinking away from some large predator, but we are nothing like their usual prey."

 

It troubled the bosmer deeply, but she kept following the path. It was starting to snow, the further up the mountain they travelled.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore frowned, continuing to follow the path along with Liu.

 

Could this have to do with what happened yesterday? When he suddenly roared to the heavens?

 

The Vigilant's frown deepened, as his hand drifted away from his mace. There's a puzzle here, and the answer is right in front of him--just like what Julianos hinted at.

 

But he's missing something, some critical thing tying it all together.

 

* * *

 

It was like mentioning the word 'wanna go outside?' to a dog. The mere thought of it, the shouting, the want to roar and declare his presence and sing high to the heavens again jumped up his throat.

 

That damn _burning._ It was a hot flash of eagerness and stamina welling up in his spirit, heightening sensation. He could feel a distant pin prick of danger, even now, as the bosmer crept toward the abandoned tower.

 

A man, leaning against the tree, blending into the surroundings. A silent acknowledgement, movement within.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore growled--before catching himself. He called out quietly.

 

"Bandits ahead. Get your bow out." He readied his mace, and his left hand began to glow with a cyan wisps of energy.

 

He continued to try and crush the damn _burning_ in his throat, under his own willpower. Now was not the time to be distracted.

 

But if it could heighten his sensation, perhaps he could use this 'animalistic instinct' to protect people.

 

* * *

 

He'd caught it just before her ears caught wind of the murmuring. _Freaky._ The bosmer didn't trust this beast just yet, though she was dedicated to throwing herself into repaying the debt as quickly as possible.

 

Ugh.

 

The bow drew back tightly, aiming for the first bandit by the tree. She didn't even wait for the man to say go, an arrow letting loose from her place behind a rock.

 

_Thunk._ Straight through the throat, an efficient and merciful strike.

 

That set off the rest. He could hear the shouts and cries of at least three other men within the tower, rushing out.

 

That rush as with yesterday returned to him, like a battle cry. _Fight. Dominate. Take._ It was an unquenched desire, who knew not how else to be.

 

* * *

 

He denied the needs of this desire, instead focusing on his training under the Vigilants. How to deny the demands and requests of the daedra.

 

Surely this was different, but at least similar enough to work.

 

As he rushed towards the bandits, mace raised, his breathing grew deeper, and soon he found that he was letting just the tiniest bit of that rush into his system. It was nigh impossible to focus on both a fight to the death, and crushing this focus completely.

 

* * *

 

As he closed the distance with the first one, he raised his mace, and SLAMMED it down onto the Nord's shield. The shield, with iron strips and sturdy oak, actually splintered under the man's amazing strength. The Nord's arm would be broken, if not have shattered bone now.

 

* * *

 

And yet, Bruccore did not find himself satisfied with that as he turned to face the other two, a near feral snarl on his lips as he rushed them as well.

 

Why did he -want- blood?

 

* * *

 

Flesh bruised, burst, bones snapped in twain. A cry of anguish punctuated his impact as the bandit toppled over the side of a cliff. Arrows flew in beside him, dotting the face of the axe wielding bandit that burst from the tower after the fallen, skull splitting.

 

It screamed. Take and conquer. _This wasn't the end of them._ Above him, he could hear the wood creak and groan with the heavy foot falls over another. Perhaps it was their leader?

 

One last prey.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore did all he could to try and rein the beast in as he stomped up the stairs, all but bursting into the room. He looked up at the bandit leader, and snarled...before he tried to calm down.

 

**"Listen to me! Your friends have fallen! Surrender, and give up your life of banditry!"**

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant's voice echoed and vibrated with power, the sound of it carrying enough to make even the bosmer below flinch mid-plundering of the fallen.

 

She had far less qualms than the Paladin did.

 

"I submit! I submit!" The chieftain of the small bandit band sobbed, dropping to his knees with the great sword clattering. "Please, no more!"

 

* * *

 

Said Paladin breathed for a moment.

 

Breath. Focus.

 

Then, after making sure that the inner beast was squashed--and being startled by his own voice, he kicked the greatsword away, and looked deep into the eyes of the bandit chieftain.

 

"Listen to me. I was once like you once. A bandit chieftain. But you do not have to be this way. You can go pledge your life to the divines, or take up an honest trade, or any number of things. Just..." he sighs.

 

"This life isn't for men. It's for beasts. So take what you have on you and a little food, and -go-. Just leave, and I hope to never see you raiding anyone ever again."

 

* * *

 

A desperate look flashed across his features.

 

As if he knew the man was right. "Ah. Sure. Sure, yes. Of course. Anything you say. I'm going! I'm going!"

 

He looked to the stairs above, but didn't even wait. The bandit started to scramble downstairs. What was he looking at above...?

 

* * *

 

Bruccore raised an eyebrow, before looking at the stairs above, trying to see what the man was looking at.

 

* * *

 

A chest! Oh, woe! It seemed that stash was where they'd stored their plunder.

 

And _he could take it, couldn't he?_ It was rightfully his by conquest.

 

... right?

 

* * *

 

He had a mental debate about it. On one hand, it wasn't his. On the other...

 

Well, they did try to kill him, didn't they?

 

He prayed to Stendarr for forgiveness, as well as...Akatosh. He knew not why he felt the need to pray to the dragon god of time, but felt it was appropriate. For some odd reason.

 

Regardless, he opened the chest, and took a look inside.

 

He already knew what was likely in it.

 

* * *

 

A handful of wedding bands, gold and silver.

 

Three potions of mild healing.

 

An iron helmet, horned like a dragon, which he felt a need to at least try on once, for some reason.

 

There was no response to his prayers. Indifferent, perhaps.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore pocketed the handful of wedding bands, as well as grabbing the three potions of mild healing. He left the iron horned helmet, thinking that it looked ridiculous and not knowing why he would -ever- want to wear such a thing.

 

Then, with a sigh, he closed the chest, and walked downstairs, down back into the snow.

 

* * *

 

That sense of danger pickled his thoughts even as he began his descent. Where had the little bosmer gone? He'd lost track of her in the blood and fighting.

 

And then he heard it.

 

"By Ysmir, you won't leave here alive!" A call of rage and fury from the bandit chieftain who'd already surrendered.

 

* * *

 

And then he saw red.

 

**_”DO YOU TAKE MERCY FOR WEAKNESS SO EASILY?!”_ ** he bellowed, mace in hand as he rushed the bandit chieftain, the thought of holding back the beast inside momentarily forgotten. He moved faster, faster than any Breton had the right to, as he rushed towards the bandit chieftain.

 

The blur of a Breton collided like a boulder against the hapless flesh and steel of the bandit, who was still screaming.

 

* * *

 

In rage and blurred anger, he caught glimpse of the bosmer calmly perched on a rock, blood soaked deep into the snow. Her leather was stained red.

 

She blinked once.

 

By then it would be too late. The collision course exploded.

 

In a swift move, the bandit was bowled over, and a mace was brought down on the Nord’s skull, thoroughly jelly-ifying the man’s entire head.

 

* * *

 

And then he breathed, focused. The beast inside of him was forcibly muzzled, forced down, stamped under the steel boot of his will.

 

And then, he turned around, eyes wide.

 

“Are you okay? Are you injured? You’re covered in blood.” He fast-walks to her side, trying to examine her non-existent wounds.

 

* * *

 

A suspicious look shot his way. Afraid, at that.

 

"It's not mine," she muttered, wiping her hands through the snow. It melted and dirtied in browns and reds.

 

* * *

 

His mace had been sheathed, and his palms had begun spouting golden energy.

 

Was he honestly worried for her?

 

Then, at her revelation, he nodded, and the golden energy faded.

 

“Then...did one of them manage to close the distance with you?” Confusion tinted his tone, as he tried to work this mystery out.

 

* * *

 

"I was performing a rite on the dead. He did not like it." Liu was short with words, grimacing slightly as she looked off.

 

Then, back to him. "He did not kill you."

 

* * *

 

"No, he did not. I gave him a chance at mercy, but then I heard yelling out here, and I thought..."

 

A pause.

 

"Thought he had attacked you."

 

* * *

 

"He drew his dagger on me," she affirmed quietly, "... guess we should move on. Hm."

 

Liu did not elaborate on what the Rite was, in any way.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore assumed it had something to do with Y'ffre, and did not question it further. Before they moved on, he had offered a quick prayer to Arkay, beseeching him to carry the true souls of these men and women to Aetherius, where they may have eternal rest.

 

Afterwards, he moved on with her. Towards the Barrow.

 

* * *

 

It was bitterly cold the further up the mountain they went, their limbs stiffening up. It would be harder to fight under these circumstances.

 

Though, for some reason, his throat still felt as if it were lit aflame. Decidedly unnatural, especially intensifying as they approached the Barrow.

 

Ancient whispers hung about the air of the tomb, defiled by tomb raiders.

 

More _bandits._

 

The bosmer was first to see them this time, an arrow whizzing past his head and lodging in the throat of the other archer!

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant had to refrain from -roaring- at them again. He -refused- to roar at them, refused to give in to this beast.

 

Still, he charged in, with his mace drawn, knowing that no matter what the beast told him to do, he still had to fight. The here, the now. That's what matters.

 

Through willpower and faith, he overcame.

 

* * *

 

The lesson whipped harshly into his soul, throwing itself instead to the fire of his purpose. Heat hissed through his teeth like steam, grinding as if flint against rock.

 

Two bandits rushed him at once, one great axe and another with a bastard sword.

 

"Never should have come here!" One roared at the Vigilant, a wild taunt and battle cry at once.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore began with his left hand conjuring a gout of flame at the man with the great axe, directly into the Nord's face. Then, as the one with the bastard sword came down in a swing, the Vigilant side-stepped it, retaliating with a quick, yet decisive blow to the man's jaw with his mace.

 

He finished off the bandit who was rolling around on the ground, with a mace to the head. Then, he rushed up the stone stairs, trying to find his next target.

 

* * *

 

_Thunk thunk thunk!_

  


Three arrows, the throat, the face, through the hand. A bandit crumpled beside the Vigilant at the top of the steps, arrows and bow clattering down the stone steps.

 

The bosmer lurked below, like a phantom. He hadn't even seen her sneak after him. It was likely easy for her to pick them off what with him diving in and being a living wrecking ball.

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant nodded to her in thanks, before looking all around, trying to see if there were any other enemies around. If not, he would ascend to the stone steps up to the massive metal door.

 

* * *

 

The door was already breached, so there was no need to find a way to unlock it. Pressing the inner circle of the tomb should be sufficient enough to cause the door to open for them both.

 

No other bandit appeared to be in sight. The sun rose high above them, an indicator of midday, almost noon.

 

The bosmer vanished from sight again down the steps.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore, already accepting his new role of "distraction with large mace", climbed up the steps. His mace was ready, and he looked around.

 

...not seeing his bosmer companion, he assumed she was ready. He said a quick prayer to Arkay for the fallen, before pressing the inner circle of the tomb, to open the door for them both.

 

Idly, he wondered why the doors were so massive.

 

* * *

 

Inside the tomb, the crackle of a fire and hushed voices alerted him to the presence of yet more bandits.

 

"Shouldn't we go in there and look for him?" One whispered.

 

The chance of a tomb raiding gone wrong, it seemed.

 

"If that idiot dunmer wants to run on ahead, let him. Better than us being draugr bait."

 

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my cut of that claw!" The woman now appeared less worried about the other's safety and moreso for money. Quaint.

 

"Just shut up and keep an eye out, got it?"

 

* * *

 

So there were draugr here, Arvel had run ahead (most likely to his death), and the others outside were part of his band.

 

Good to know.

 

Bruccore watched the two part ways for a moment, before trying to sneak just a bit closer—

 

Before he launched his attack by picking up the woodcutter’s axe by the chest of loot, and throwing it at the woman with the bow. He’s had plenty of experience with throwing hammers and axes, albeit this one wasn’t weighted properly.

 

* * *

 

It was a woodcutter's axe, but his throwing arm had become oddly monstrous.

 

It cleaved through the lookout's leg, splintering bone at a horrific angle.

 

The woman howled in agony and shock, bending over and collapsing.

 

If Bruccore wasn't sure then about the oddities he was experiencing, that would almost all but confirm it. There was no way a mortal man could have achieved such a thing.

 

The second bandit immediately rushed in toward the screaming, short sword drawn in rage.

 

"What have you... you-- die!"

 

* * *

 

This was the final nail in the coffin. Something -odd- had happened to him, and it was not by the Divine's will. At least, he was rather sure. They worked in mysterious ways, after all.

 

But still! Why, how--

 

He drew his mace, and promptly slew the bandit by dodging the sword, before taking the man's jaw off...along with the remaining half of his face.

 

After that, Bruccore just. Stood there.

 

What on **Nirn** had he become?

 

* * *

 

In the long silence of his horror, Liu Rey returned to him. Her backpack was being adjusted again, as if she'd added things to it.

 

"Hello, sir," she murmred, "more bandits in here, huh?" She glanced at the corpses, and then the fire.

 

"Fighting causes exhaustion. You should eat and rest. We should rest before we delve. This place isn't too tapped, don't you think."

 

* * *

 

"'Tapped'?" He muttered, sounding as if he had just seen a ghost. The Vigilant takes a seat on a stone block, and just...stares into nothingness.

 

He looked like he had his entire life turned upside down.

 

* * *

 

"I cook. You eat. It will give you strength."

 

The bosmer settled beside the once utilized cooking fire, inspecting it. Oh! A soup base. They had similar thoughts, and it was hers now to claim. Perfect.

 

The backpack slung down and she dug quickly through for a small, propping cutting board.

 

And ... a wet, soaking sack was also procured.

 

With her knife, she quickly began cutting the strange slabs of meat. Had she brought fresh meat? But it had been hours since they left. It looked bloodied and new.

 

Though the quality did seem surprisingly well carved.

 

"Tapped. Broken. Not looted. The breach is new. Ish. The draugr roam and tend to it still, so it should be lit enough, I think. Men's ancestors are odd, but their respect of the dead is good."

 

At least she was somewhat chatting.

 

* * *

 

He took solace in her words, and the wonderful smells coming from the pot.

 

“I can’t argue there. We take the graves of our ancestors pretty seriously. Well...”

 

His eyes are drawn to the corpses of the bandits.

 

“For the most part.”

 

“By the way,” he started, turning back to her.

 

“What kind of meat is this? I didn’t think there could’ve been any animals this high up.”

 

* * *

 

The meat sizzled and popped, Liu adding some spices in with it from a side pouch. Obviously things she'd found on the road there.

 

The bosmer stirred it, nonchalant. "Y'ffre declares we waste not the meat of our enemies, so that they do not return to the earth and wilds without giving thanks for the lives they lived. We add their strength to our own."

 

_Oh._ A cultural cannibalism. This was a relatively common thing for the bosmer, and widely known enough.

 

Though the religious aspect is usually replaced by Altmer propaganda about barbarism and daedric worship.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore’s eyes widened a bit, before he calmed down. He knew Y’ffre wasn’t a daedra—that was one of the things they taught Vigilants, what was and wasn’t a daedra.

 

And thankfully, the Vigilant knew enough about Tamrielic religions to know that it was Altmer propaganda, and that to the beliefs of the Bosmer, this was completely natural.

 

“Ah. I will...have my rations, if that’s okay with you.”

 

...doesn’t mean he’s about to eat a person.

 

* * *

 

Whatever nervousness the bosmer held from admitting what it was melted, and the whited haired woman finally smiled.

 

For all her stoic servitude, it was finally a warm expression, which almost prettied her dirty face.

 

"... it is polite, at least, to offer. Mother always told me that. Never know who might see for themselves. I do not begrudge."

 

The piping hot soup was eventually ladled into a bowl for herself, and she hummed half a joke. "Just as well. May need the strength of many to match you, sir."

 

* * *

 

"It is nice to offer, and I thank you for thinking of me." He smiles at her, warmly.

 

"As for my strength..." His smile falls, and a frown presses itself onto his face.

 

"I do not know why I am so strong. It's been happening ever since yesterday. And it feels like there's...some sort of animal inside of me, that wants me to just -scream- to the heavens."

 

* * *

 

Her mouth opened, then closed. Pennsive.

 

Liu took a great gulp from her bowl, swallowing. She regarded the man with a serious look as she considered his words.

 

"Easy to forget. Men do not easily embrace the wild in them. Think themselves above their base nature. Y'ffre may have your answers, should you wish. Could make a totem for you to inquire. He is the Lord of the wild and remembers the chaos times."

 

The bosmer chewed on her finger briefly, mulling it over. "All I can say is that it would not be wise to stamp it out. Perhaps one of your God's blessings?"

 

* * *

 

“...maybe,” he considers. He appears deep in thought for a moment.

 

“It first stirred within me when I saw that dragon, flying away from Helgen. And then, when Talos answered my prayer yesterday, I felt like I needed to yell to the heavens. After I left Riverwood, I finally gave in, and...” he paused in his tale.

 

“And it felt like the greatest high of my life, and the lowest low all at once. I could -feel- the breath of Kyne fill in my breast, and suddenly my horse and I were going so fast down the road...”

 

“We arrived at Whiterun after a mere hour or so. On the way, I...rode by a giant? And I swung my mace so hard that it’s knee _exploded_ . And then when we were fighting those bandits, I swear I don’t want to just kill them. I wanted to _dominate_ them. I wanted to take everything they had and show them I was superior in every way and my impulses have never been that bad in my life not even when I wore the mask and I just...”

 

He had to stop and take a deep breath.

 

* * *

 

It was a lot to take in, for sure.

 

The bosmer's brows furrowed, them rose, mouth opening in shock and awe now and again.

 

If she hadn't seen the damage he'd inflicted on the bandits, she would have easily called him crazy.

 

But ...

 

"... so Talos blessed you, you want to shout constantly, and are graced with strength?"

 

Liu frowned. "Are you secretly a Septim descendent?"

 

Ah. So close, but also so far.

 

* * *

 

“I doubt it. I mean, it’s not like I’m the next Dragonborn.”

 

Bruccore ate his jerky. There’s no way that could be it, right?

 

* * *

 

"What's a Dragonborn? Is that a shapeshifter?"

 

Liu questioned him, having only a spotty semblance of an understanding about Nordic lore.

 

Ah, hello, again. Remember that dysphoria, Bruccore? It slammed like a freighter truck from hell at that question.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore literally “oof’d”, before he finishes his jerky, and stands up.

“Okay, they’re uh. They’re mortals with the soul and blood of a dragon. Tiber Septim was one. Now let’s go, because I feel like that beast of mine wants to absolutely murder me.”

 

* * *

 

The bosmer gulped down the rest of the soup, slapping the lid of the pot on and stashing away all her things.

 

Then, she quickly stood to sling the backpack on again.

 

"Maybe your beast is a dragon." An idle enough suggestion. She skittered down the stone steps, looking about.

 

* * *

 

“Hah. Now that’s a thought.”

 

Paying the matter no mind, he delved with her into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, with his mace raised.

 

* * *

 

The path was winding, taking several turns. Though any other random plunderer may have pilfered the urns, the two travelling through it held a better respect for the dead.

 

Though his chest still ached with an odd grief, Bruccore felt a glimmer of approval from Arkay for their respectful trek.

 

The braziers were lit by abandoned torches, creating a trail of likely the next bandit that awaited them.

 

A turn became a set of stairs and Liu held up a finger to the man suddenly. Wait. Crouch with her in silence.

 

A man hadn't realized they were there, standing in a room and approaching a lever.

 

* * *

 

His chest felt warmer as Arkay’s approval radiated through his breast. Then, Bruccore followed her lead, kneeling down as he stared at the man who approached a lever.

 

Beyond that, he could see a gate. That was what he was trying to open, then.

 

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

 

* * *

 

Something bad was an understatement.

 

The lever pulled, the man clearly straining against the rust. But it worked!

 

"Hah, like we'd trust that little rat. I knew he'd ..."

 

There was a soft, distant grind of stone, and then the sound of a dozen arrows impacting the ground and the flesh of the bandit.

 

His death howl echoed up into the hall where they were crouched.

 

* * *

 

He cringed under the cry of his death throes. After waiting a moment or two, Bruccore stood up, carefully entering the room. He looked up, and all around.

 

* * *

 

"Trap," the bosmer murmured, touching the stone pillar in one of the slots in the wall, "this must be one of those infamous Nordic puzzles... huh?"

 

Liu craned her neck upwards, looking around.

 

"... pretty stupid easy looking for a puzzle, though, isn't it?"

 

* * *

 

He looks up as well, and back down to the one stone tablet that fell down. The Vigilant looks back at her, and then to the dead bandit, and then back.

 

“...they wouldn’t have made it _that_ easy, would they?”

 

* * *

 

"This one didn't even try, so I suppose this may be more of a courtesy."

 

Liu furrowed her brows. It did seem to line up. "Maybe it's more ritualistic than a puzzle and he just failed the test."

 

* * *

 

“Like it’s more of a symbol than an actual puzzle?” He nodded to the idea of it.

“...maybe. Shall we try it, then? I’ll pull the lever.”

 

* * *

 

The bosmer turned, slowly working the pillars in place. They were surprisingly easy to turn the pillars, which gave the bosmer some inkling that the dark elf had closed the gate behind him somehow.

 

At least one other bandit awaited them.

 

"Do it."

 

* * *

 

With a nod, he pulled the lever...

 

And the gate opened. With a small “huh”, the Vigilant just stared for a moment, before he took his mace back out.

 

“I guess the ancient Nords _did_ make it that easy.”

 

* * *

 

Liu shot past him through the ruins, inspecting a table and nearby chest.

 

That book didn't look like it belonged here, so she swiped it and stuffed it into her bag, glancing about.

 

"Ah. Staircase."

_Squeak._

 

* * *

 

Bruccore frowns.

“Skeevers.” He took the soul gem that was sitting on a pedestal, and pocketed it, before looking down at the staircase.

 

Then, remembering his experience with the wolves, he decided to brave the dark stairs, wondering if the skeevers will run away.

 

* * *

 

The stench was ... impressive down here. Oils, musk, and skeever shit. Delightfully delicious.

 

Though for some reason, a sense of reverence fell over Bruccore as he stepped past the cowering skeevers into what was surely close to the main tombs.

 

He felt worshipped. What an odd feeling. None of this was for _him,_ after all.

 

* * *

 

No, it wasn’t. He examined the walls, where the ancient Nords often told their stories, as they continued into the depths.

 

Why in Oblivion did he feel _worshipped?_

 

* * *

 

And then there were spider webs. That feeling immediately descended into a sense of violation and outrage.

 

Something had made a nest in the tomb.

 

Liu looked alarmed at the sight of it, so much webbing to cover an entire doorway deeper into the ruins. She couldn't see through it.

 

"Frostbite."

 

And then, the screaming.

 

"Is that... please! By the eight Divines, please save me! Somebody, anybody!"

 

* * *

 

_Nine_ Divines, he corrected, but he didn’t say anything as he began torching the cobwebs blocking his path with a Flames spell. Then, after doing this a few times, he burst into the chamber where the cries came from.

 

* * *

 

Egg sacs.

 

**EVERYWHERE.**

 

This entire room was a horrific nest, several mummified and wrapped corpses littering the area at large...

 

And at the end of the room, the dark elf wriggled in webbings.

 

"Ah, gods, here it comes again! Kill it! Kill it!"

 

_Above._

 

A gigantic frostbite, several times larger than its usual growth rates, descended and landed from above.

 

It had a broken limb, from the looks, but still had formidable venom and bulk.

 

It chittered a shrieking hiss!

 

* * *

 

Bruccore cursed at not remembering to grab anti-venom before he left, and his left hand clenched, before unclenching. It now had wisps of light blue energy come from it.

 

The Vigilant put his left palm up, and a steadfast ward began to appear from his fingertips. He walked towards the spider, holding it up as he put himself between the beast and Liu!

 

* * *

 

Splatters of venom laced web slapped against the ward uselessly, but channeling it was quickly draining his magicka!

 

Liu crouched from beneath the large breton, several arrows firing out in quick succession to pin the beast's legs!

 

The Spider squealed in rage, though the iron did little to pierce its carapace... it lurched forward to wildly swing its legs at them!

 

* * *

 

With a roar, he lashed out with his mace, trying to bat the spider aside long enough for his left hand to begin spouting a column of flames at the beast. After a moment of channeling said flames, the Vigilant would attempt to bury his orcish mace deep into the spider's eyes!

 

* * *

 

The beast let out an ear piercing shriek at the battery and flames, though it didn't even seem close to its last leg!

 

And then the mace swung again.

 

Viscera and guts exploded from the impact, the screeching becoming a rasping, wheezing chittering.

 

He'd caved the entire thing's head into a gooey pulp.

 

It collapsed to the floor, limbs twitching wildly in death throes.

 

The dark elf sighed in relief. "Oh thank the gods... please get me down!"

 

* * *

 

Bruccore breathed heavily, before pulling the orcish mace out of the spider's head. Then, he began walking over to the dark elf in the corner.

 

"...I'm going to take a guess. You're Arvel?”

 

* * *

 

The dunmer's expression contorted into something hopeful. "D-did the boys ... send you to come get me?"

 

He'd hoped. Oh, he hoped.

 

Liu remained out of sight, extracting venom from the dead beast.

 

* * *

 

"...actually, no. We were sent to reclaim the claw from you," he stated flatly. He didn't mention that he actually...killed his friends outside.

 

"Where's the claw, if I may ask?"

 

* * *

 

The wriggling man glowered, souring immensely. "Why should I tell you? It's --"

 

Well. He was trapped in webbing with no other way out, for one. In a dungeon full of spiders and draugr.

 

"I-- staked my whole damn career on this thing!”

 

* * *

 

"And you stole it." The Vigilant sighed, knowing that even if he did have it on him, he couldn't exactly reach it what with being covered in spider webs.

 

"Listen, stop struggling, I'll get you down. Don't attack us once I get you down, alright?" Though, Bruccore didn't add, he could easily, -probably- kick the man into the stone wall at this point, with how strong he's become.

 

* * *

 

"... fine." The dunmer grunted, relenting to both his captors and his saviors. It was clear he absolutely hated this, but loved surviving better than anything else.

 

A fair point, on that part. Bruccore took out his steel dagger, and began cutting the webbing away from the dark elf.

 

After a moment, hopefully, the dunmer would be free.

 

* * *

 

It didn't take too long, thankfully. It was weaker to direct cuts compared to stretching pressure.

 

The man grunted as he dropped down, breathing out... then without so much a 'thanks,' he darted out the room behind him. Quick as a flash.

 

A speedy little fellow, wasn't he?

 

"Why should I share the treasure?! It's mine, dammit!" His voice faded.

 

Liu made a face at the ceiling.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore watched with blinking eyes as the man ran away...before he growled lowly.

 

That elf was running away with the treasure.

 

_His_ treasure.

 

Before the Vigilant could even think, his body acted before him. He sprinted after the elf, going fast. **Much** faster than what Arvel may have expected any breton to go. Soon enough, after merely a few seconds of sprinting, the man had caught up with the mer.

 

Then, Bruccore took ahold of Arvel's arm, and in a streak of brutality, bent the mer's arm back past the elbow into a ninety-degree angle, the sound of shattering bone echoing in the halls.

 

And then he forced the now-inverted elbow up, and with a swift expulsion of force, drove the not-elbow into the elf's face.

 

* * *

 

**Too** much force. He'd listened to the greedy screams of that beast again. That treasure belonged to them. Not in the hands of a thief.

 

_Belonged._

 

Through sheer luck, the elf didn't die immediately at the impact ... but it was clear he was gibbering in so much pain, he wished he was, writhing now on the stone crypt floor.

 

The crypt.

 

"Sir!" The bosmer called out from above the slope. " **Draugr!** "

 

An arrow whizzed past his head, but whiffed the shot as one of the unliving remnants of the ancient Nords swung an axe directly at the Vigilant from behind!

 

* * *

 

The axe bit into his shoulder, and he cried out in pain. Thankfully, the cuirass was able to deflect most of the force, but it still left a nasty cut.

 

Cursing himself for his foolishness, he raised his mace once more, and slammed it into the head of the draugr. The corpse would collapse back onto the ground, now _completely_ lifeless.

 

He cursed himself mentally for daring to listen to the greedy voice of that beast in him. That treasure was _not his_ , damn it. Why did he get so focused on that voice?

 

* * *

 

It felt like an internal, thrashing tantrum.

 

_Delve deeper!_

 

_Belonged._

 

**_I hear it!_ **

 

Surely now he was truly going mad. His own voice, his own self, turning and twisting in circles and madness.

 

The draugr's skull split, struggling upon the ground but unable to move.

 

With shaking hesitation, Liu joined him, pilfering the golden claw off the elf's soon to be corpse. Still whimpering.

 

"This must be it, then. Where would the d--" Another draugr appeared, this time catching the bosmer by surprise in a stranglehold as if one would take a hostage.

 

* * *

 

**“LIU!”** He called out, before his left hand began to glow with golden flames. He clenched his fist, before sending forth a holy firebolt, a Sun Fire spell, aiming it right at the draugr’s maw. Thankfully, it did only injure the undead and daedra, so even if Liu was grazed by it, it would not harm her.

 

After the Sun Fire was launched, he doubled over, clenching his head. That infernal pounding in his skull, that incessant need to go deeper and find the source of... _something_.

 

Was he really going mad?

 

* * *

 

A weakened wail rattled the undead, staggering and charred severely from the blow. It was nearly crumbling to pieces, losing the spark of animation.

 

And then there was a thunderous rumble.

 

" **FUS... RO DAH!** "

 

With its dying breath, it unleashed a powerful wave of force, sending the bosmer colliding violently into the stunned Vigilant.(edited)

His ears would ring, his mind _burned._

 

Force. Balance. Push.

 

* * *

 

He was blown back by both the wave of  force and the Bosmer being slammed into him. Bruccore fell to his back, and in his dazed state, he wondered:

 

How in Oblivion does he know what that draugr just said?

 

* * *

 

"Ugh," the bosmer stiffly groaned, "I forgot about that part... all those ancient Nords could shout. Almost every one of them."

 

_Shout._

 

Yell to the heavens. Praise the sky and cosmos.

 

Liu grunted and began to stagger to her feet, surveying the path ahead. That looked ... dangerous.

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant stood up, and looked over, trying to shake the sneaking suspicion out of his head. He could see the giant wall of spikes...and the rather obvious pressure plate just before it.

 

“...that’s...obvious.”

 

* * *

 

"I bet that dunmer would have ran right into it though. Aha." Liu stepped around it, carefully creeping.

 

And then froze, catching sight of another stirring draugr.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore walked with her, throwing another Sun Fire spell, incinerating the draugr’s skull. Then, he draws his mace again, and trudges forth.

 

Further, into the depths.

 

And hopefully, to see if what he suspects to be is correct.

 

* * *

 

They didn't get to travel far.

 

Swinging blades from a triggered trap stood menacingly in their path, a rhythm of promised pain.

 

Liu didn't look bothered by the sight of it, but she was also the most acrobatic between the two of them.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore frowned at the sight of it, and a sigh came to his lips.

 

"...well. You seem rather nimble, would you like to go through first?"

 

* * *

 

He didn't even need to tell her twice.

 

The bosmer leapt through, somersaulting through the whirling blades toward the other end with an almost scarily practiced ease. She tumbled out the other end, brushing hair from her face and giving a thumbs up!

 

With another glance, she turned to the chain on the wall to disable the blades entirely.

 

"Not every Nordic ruin has draugr," she explained, "but they almost always have death traps."

 

* * *

 

“Unfortunately so,” he stated, following her into the room proper. His mace was out, and he looked all around, trying to see if there were draugr around.

 

He was also trying to ignore that pain in his skull from how close ‘something’ was.

 

* * *

 

The winding tunnel unfortunately led to MORE draugr, though this time they had the jump on them from afar. The one ahead was still sleeping in his crypt position, and Liu quickly put an arrow through its head before it could 'awaken' and fight them.

 

Sneaking helped.

 

* * *

 

As they walked by the sleeping draugr, Bruccore picked up the the undead’s axe, hooking it to his belt.

 

Always good to have a hefty throwing weapon handy.

 

* * *

 

Probably for the best, considering the last time he chucked an axe at somebody.

 

Another draugr down the hall went down, and an oil slick lay ahead of them. Unfortunately, at the last undead's death, their element of surprise was forfeit. Two more started to rush down the hall, one with a great sword-- and another behind it, throwing a torrent of ice!

 

Liu flinched backwards at the onslaught of cold, cringing and rolling back behind the Paladin's side.

 

* * *

 

And the Vigilant quickly took the axe off his side, and throwing it at the draugr spewing ice, the rusted ancient nordic axe cleaving down to the skull. He drew his mace and rushed forward, and tried something.

 

Rather than bashing a draugr in with his mace, he lashed out with his leg, trying to kick the draugr in front into his undead comrade behind him. He wanted to see just how powerful he was now.

 

* * *

 

You get what you asked for.

 

The draugr took the boot with a sickening crunch, all of the momentum from its forward motion violently pushed backwards with all too strong a force.

 

It flew backwards into the twitching corpse behind it, impacting the wall at the other end of the tunnel and _breaking stone._

 

Well, then.

 

* * *

 

Well. He...just stared for a moment, glancing back to Liu, before he continued on.

 

Test successful. So he was clearly no longer -just- a man. This was clear.

 

So what -was- he, then?

 

Regardless, with a quick prayer to Arkay to give these restless dead their final slumber, he continued on.

 

* * *

 

The look on the bosmer's face spoke volumes. She had already been partially witness to his superhuman feats of strength, but to see something confirmed so up close was... _frightening,_ to say the least, and her expression was an open book to it.

 

Regardless, Liu rose to her feet and marched on after him. A pact was a pact, no matter how fearful  she was of this man who wasn't a man.

 

* * *

 

"...you know, Liu." He started, still going down through the winding tunnels.

"I shall be honest with you. I -might- be Dragonborn," he said, keeping a mental eye on how his 'animal' reacted.

 

* * *

 

It took some time for the woman to gather her thoughts, the gentle trudging between them leading from the tunnels out into a stone cave, river flowing through a small bridge-like area.

 

A chain lay on the wall beside a metal cage-like door, and just off to the other end was an offering chest and a coffin.

 

Liu didn't even know what to _do_ with that thought. "If you're Dragonborn..." She murmured, "wouldn't you have known since you were born?"

 

As for the beast, in all its wild tantrums, didn't seem to notice words at this point. It was _so close,_ now.

 

* * *

 

"Honestly, I...don't think so," Bruccore started forth, keeping his mace at the ready.

 

"It only really started yesterday, when I invoked Talos' name after seeing that dragon. He was Dragonborn as well, so it would make sense that his presence would rouse my dragon blood and soul."

 

"And...I want to -shout- as loud as I can. I have more strength than any mortal has any right to have. And if my inner 'beast' is leading us to what I think it's leading us to..." He trailed off in thought. Ignoring the offering chest, he pulled the chain on the wall, and the gate slid up.

 

* * *

 

"Perhaps 'beast' is no longer such an appropriate term," the bosmer muttered, "dragons aren't ordinary beasts. Joking, before, because of it being Skyrim! But a dragon, a dragonborn? I don't know anything."

 

She had no FRAME of reference for this. It was so far beyond her scope. It was legend and fairy tales.

 

Water trickled on down the path in the cave, leading to an opening ahead and a brilliant show of light from the outside. Snow...

 

And glowing mushrooms, too.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore raised an eyebrow at the mushrooms, having never seen such things before. He continued speaking as they continued walking.

 

"Well, the Dragonborn -have- existed before. Tiber Septim built the _Empire_ off his personal strength and peerless tactics, unified all of Tamriel, spoke to the Greybeards..."

 

"So it's not...-impossible-, that another one can return when the dragons do. But to think that it -could- be me..." Bruccore strayed into silence, as they began walking onto the ice itself.

 

* * *

 

Liu was on edge. All this talk, being reminded of the dragon that had already nearly killed her once-- her trigger finger was itchy. Two arrows landed in the dead middle of a draugr's chest before it could begin a full charge, the corpse of it sliding down off the icy cliff edge to the gathered water below with a distant _thunk._

 

Her teeth chattered slightly. "Maybe s'because Talos is mad the Empire gave into th'Altmer."

 

* * *

 

"...could be," he muttered, and he hurried with her onto the other side, where--hopefully--it would be warmer.

 

Though, he had his doubts. While he can imagine Talos, Dragon of the North, being angered at the Empire giving in to the Aldmeri Dominion, then why were the dragons coming back at the same time? Could his gift have been 'awakened' just because the dragons were coming back? Or was it because of the Altmer, and the dragons coming back was just a mere coincidence? Vice versa?

 

He shook his head, and pressed on. He had too many questions, and not nearly enough answers.

 

* * *

 

It appeared that they'd made it to the inner sanctum of the Barrow.

 

An aging set of wooden double doors lay ahead of them, guarded by a lone draugr there... though it looked weary as it shook dust from its bones to meet them with its great blade swinging.

 

Bruccore launches another Sun Fire spell at its head, attempting to incinerate it. Anger was starting to fuel his magicka, at his seeming inability to get any answers to his existential questions.

 

* * *

 

As the rage began to course through his veins at the sheer frustration of the matter, the spell unfortunately fizzled out. Restoration was truly the most fickle of spells, and it left him open for an incoming ghastly swing from the draugr!

 

At least... if he didn't have a tiny companion beside him, who launched a staggering shot at the undead creature's knee caps to make it back away.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore does not break his stride as the spell fizzles out. Instead, he reaches back with his left fist, and throws a _haymaker_ at the corpse's skull. It would burst, and it would probably be thrown back, now a headless cadaver.

 

Afterwards, the Vigilant takes a moment to breathe. Focus. Calm down. He cannot call himself a Vigilant if he acts out of sheer anger and frustration.

 

After a moment, he calms down, and presses on, past the doors.

 

* * *

The bosmer stepped over the still twitching, headless corpse... a little more nervous than she would have expected herself to be in this situation.

 

Liu Rey couldn't help but wonder if she would be at the other end of this terrible rage at some point. It was hard to not think that way, when the man she was following was the murderer of her clan-- and now, potentially, a legend out of myth.

 

... but he'd saved her life. She reminded herself, like a mantra. _Saved her life. Saved other's lives._

 

The sanctum opened up into a large room with a brazier in the middle, down another winding path. They could hear whirling blades yet again.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore sighed at the sound, before following the path down to the swinging pendulum blades. Once there, he looks at her.

 

"Can you...?"

 

The woman nodded shortly. Once again, catapulting herself through the whirling blades out to the other side. It was a massive, open area from what he could tell from there, and Liu immediately straightened out to look for the chain to switch the trap off.

 

... However, that also meant her back was turned as the corpse slowly rose from its grave.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore, now significantly calmed, began to channel Restoration magics once more, his palm alight with holy fire as he threw a more powerful Sun Fire spell at the corpse's head, turning it into a charred skull as it collapsed back into its grave. The ball of holy flame would have whizzed right past Liu's haed, possibly tussling up her hair as it passed.

 

* * *

 

The chain yanked down as the burst of brilliant light soared past her. Liu's hair was most certainly tossled at that point as the chains stopped, stiffly turning about in an exhausted matter-- just in time to see three more draugr pacing down the steps.

 

Her eyes narrowed.

 

With an exhausted huff-- tired of all these darned creatures-- the bosmer drew her bow back and launched an arrow directly at the pot above the oil slick. The iron arrowhead snapped clean through the rope, dropping it with a roaring impact on the ground below!

 

The group of charging draugr roared in agony, still trying to rush through to them even as they died once more.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore walked towards her, before looking over the scene of dead, burnt draugr.

 

"Nice shot," he complimented her, then looking her over.

 

"Are you alright?"

 

* * *

 

"M'a little tired," the bosmer admitted, huffing through her nose. It had been a hard trek, even if she had managed to get some food into her. They'd been walking and trudging and fighting nearly nonstop here.

 

And yet Liu was ever eager to press on, walking around the flames towards the steps.

 

* * *

 

"I think we're getting close," he states, following her.

 

He hopes.

 

He could hear his inner beast, his 'dragon' (if that was that it really was) tell him how close they were getting. To what, he had only a faint idea. An educated guess.

 

And so, the Vigilant, the not-man-but-a-man, followed her even deeper.

 

* * *

 

A long hallway awaited them past another pair of wooden double doors, and a sealed ritual door. Carvings etched the walls, depicting a time when the dragons reigned supreme.

 

It stirred the soul in unsettling motions.

 

Liu Rey approached the door, looking at the slot where the claw would be inserted. She regarded the golden claw with a skeptical look.

 

The symbols looked as though they could be moved, after all.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore watched the walls...and cringed as he saw how the dragons treated the humans back then, as well as how his soul stirred to such images.

 

There was no way he could be Dragonborn...right?

 

And then his thoughts wandered to the door.

 

“They wouldn’t make this just as easy...would they?”

 

* * *

 

The bosmer turned the claw over, then grunted.

 

Of course they would.

 

"Bear," she murmured, guiding Bruccore to change the symbols, "Butterfly. Owl."

 

* * *

 

He did as she commanded, gently turning the sliding stones over.

“...is that a butterfly or a moth,” he muttered, still changing the sliding part of the door.

 

* * *

 

"Does it really matter if it works?" The bosmer frowned, inserting the golden claw into the slot as the sliding pieces fell into place.

 

Click. Click. Click.

 

At last, it slid down. Dust and debris scattered as it creaked, indicating this REALLY had not been breached in... who knows how long. A cave awaited ahead, mostly ruins, the sun shining in from above to illuminate--

 

A strange sort of platform... and a wall, covered in etchings.

 

Bruccore's heart would nearly leap up into his throat at the sheer sight of it, like a white hot brand.

 

* * *

 

And like a sailor being lured in by a siren song, he walked in, his feet trusting one step in front of the other as he gradually stepped forth. He ascended the stairs, and walked over to the wall of etchings.

 

* * *

 

It called to him, like drums in the back of his mind, chanting in a language that was both unfamiliar and familiar. Like home, but alien, foreign. Dreadful.

 

It could not impact his mind for very long, not as much as his mind screamed or wished for. Not as much as he needed. The tomb behind him burst open in a flurry, a horrific helmed beast rising from within.

 

A large, blackened greatsword in his grip, poised to strike. Blue eyes upon him.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore's head slowly swiveled to see the black, helmed beast arise. He readied his mace, and refused to give this undead any time to gather its bearings. He raised his mace, and attempted to bring it down on the draugr!

 

* * *

 

Arrows struck from behind as his mace collided with the creature's helmet! It staggered, but swiped without hesitation. Bitter cold slashed at the Vigilant's armor and robes, finding weakpoints wherever it may and letting the enchantment rip through his defenses.

 

Liu Rey was jogging up as fast as he could behind him, taking aim from the sidelines-- careful, cautious, not wanting to accidentally shoot the Breton instead.

 

* * *

 

He bit back a curse as the cold began to warp the metal of his cuirass, as well as freeze the blood flowing to his new wound. He backed off for a moment, and his palm began to be lit with golden energies. He raises his right hand, as if praising the Divines, and his wound was suddenly, yet only partially, healed.

 

Then, he moved in again, attempting to block its next incoming swing with the spikes of his mace, before kicking it!

 

* * *

 

Pelted by arrows, parried by the spikes of the mace-- and then slammed backwards into its opened crypt. The thing was battered, but still standing, having taken the most brutal damage compared to the rest.

 

The horned beast did not waiver.

 

_Move,_ his body seemed to give warning to him ahead of time as the draugr breathed in deep.

 

**FUS.**

 

**_RO DAH!_ **

 

The impact of the shout shattered eardrums, reverberating off stone and the chasms of the cave. It sent the bosmer flying off the platform like a tiny rag doll, several dozen feet away, before impacting with a sickening crack.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore managed to roll out of the way just in time, narrowly dodging the wave of energy. He looks back--and sees Liu there. Not moving. And his eyes look back.

 

He begins seeing red.

 

Finally, -finally-, he speaks to his inner soul...his _dragon_.

 

"If you are part of me, then, so be it. Stendarr as my witness, you shall fuel my endeavors, and we shall **_LAY THIS BEAST LOW!_ **"

 

The Vigilant gave in to the temptation, and raised his head to the heavens that was leaking through the stonework, illuminating him in bright light. And he roared, _roared_ with all his might.

 

* * *

 

A roar and mighty and fierce as his own. It did not carry the same weight as his own Thu'um, and yet the Deathlord waivered, nearly wobbling to a single knee. The blade rose yet again regardless, prepared to defend the tomb to its very last breath.

 

As was its charge.

 

It was like clarity, a grace upon the brow. Harmony unlike any other, where the two intentions became one. _To defeat the beast before them._ The heavens answered at his cry, the winds howled, the stone felt as if it may have shook beneath them.

 

Power rattled through his very bones. This blow would be the last.

 

* * *

 

With ragged breaths, Bruccore struggled not to lose himself to the power. And then, he rushed forward, as fast as a blur.

 

**_"STENDARR GUIDE MY HAND!"_ ** He called out, beseeching his god to witness His son in a moment of triumph over evil, over those who would see his friends broken and shattered before them. He raised his orcish mace by his side, and roared in challenge as he ran at the black beast.

 

And he swung. With both hands on the weapon, he swung with all his might at the beast who dared lay a finger on those who stood by him, who were by his side. The winds would howl in protest as he swung his mace.

 

* * *

 

A thundercrack from the heavens pierced from the sky above, lighting the mace ablaze with sunfire, the collision meeting the jaw and helm of the Deathlord before it could bring the black blade down upon its foe in another mighty cleave.

 

It ripped through it in a cleansing wrath of holy flame, pulverizing metal and flesh and bone as the head came clear off at the brutal blow.

 

Silence shortly followed, the form of the draugr slowly becoming consumed by the blessing from Stendarr, Himself. The only sound that followed was the clattering of the great sword as it toppled from its grip to the stone below.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore watched for just a moment, as the draugr was slowly consumed by the bless of Stendarr. And then, his eyes widened, and he dropped his mace, running for the bosmer's form.

 

"LIU!"

 

His legs were pumping as he rushed to her side, and his palms begin to alight in golden energy, as he begins pouring healing magic into her.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer let out a shaking moan as she was gathered up to be healed by the Vigilant's touch, looking mostly coherent, if a little worse for wear.

 

That was an improvement for sure.

 

"Backpack... broke the fall," she half-grunted out, wincing, "... ears ringing." Her head rolled back-- exhaustion, more than anything.

 

* * *

 

He sighed in relief as she was, mostly, okay. Then, he stands up, offering her a hand.

"Sorry about that. It's all over, though, thankfully. Draugr's dead."

 

* * *

 

_Well, then._

 

Liu accepted the hand with a shaking sigh, squinting up at the burnt husk of what was once a Draugr Deathlord.

 

Terrifying. Yes, this man was terrifying.

 

... And now he'd helped her for a third time. _Dammit._ Repaying this debt would be harder than she expected.

 

And now, as the danger passed, the burning need to read the stone leapt right back up into Bruccore's throat.

 

* * *

 

He helps her up, before...looking back at the stone wall.

 

"...give me a moment," he grunts, before climbing back up the stairs, ascending to the wall of etchings. He knew one that looked very similar in Deepwood Redoubt.

 

_Time for the moment of truth._

 

He stepped forward.

 

* * *

 

The chants returned to his mind, thunderous and drumming. His skull felt as if it may split open at any moment-- but it became a sudden understanding moments later. He could only pick out one word among the many etchings, this time.

 

_Fus._ Force.

 

The knowledge of the word swelled within his mind, as if he'd known about it his entire life. It was a part of him.

 

And he nodded, as if he had perfectly understood it. As if he had always understood it.

 

Then, Bruccore Tailconis dropped down to his knees, and prayed to Stendarr. To thank him for witnessing his deeds, for aiding him in his time of greatest need.

 

Then he stood up. And he breathed in, out, in, out.

 

“So I...suppose I’m the Dragonborn, then.”

 

* * *

 

His chest warmed over-- the beast, nay, _dragon_ was satisfied with both his revelation and the discovery of the word. It felt like finding a missing piece to a long forgotten puzzle.

 

Words _he'd_ forgotten, somehow.

 

An inkling in the back of his skull as well told him there was a faint, distant approval from above, as well.

 

The answers had indeed come from within him all along.

 

"Dragonborn..." Liu repeated, in her quiet disbelief.

 

* * *

 

Silently, he prays to Julianos to apologize for being such a fool. And then, he stands up.

 

“...as important as me being Dragonborn is, we still came here for a dragon stone. At least...”

 

He looks around.

 

“I certainly -hope- it’s here...”

 

* * *

 

Pilfering is what she was good at.

 

Liu Rey moved towards the massive burial chest, shoving it open to peer inside. "... think this big hunk of rock is it?"

 

* * *

 

He walks over, looking inside the burial chest, and takes out said ‘big hunk of rock’. Bruccore looks it over, before nodding.

 

“Yes, this seems to be it.” He stated, before putting it in his backpack.

 

And then, just out of curiosity, he looks to see what else is inside the chest.

 

* * *

 

A rather large potion of healing lay inside, likely quite potent indeed, and near invaluable in case of emergencies. There were also a great deal of ancient looking lockpicks, which Liu carefully and graciously removed to look over.

 

She didn't even know they'd made lockpicks like these.

 

As well, there were a few pieces of ancient armor and a short, nordic blade. The only other thing of note was the enchanted great blade the Draugr wielded.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore grabbed the potion of healing, before looking down to the enchanted great blade the draugr had. Jumping down, he went over and picked it up, examining it, before tying it to his knapsack. He called back up:

“Are we ready to leave?”

 

* * *

 

Hesitation flitted flitted across Liu Rey's features. If there was ever a time to make a break for it, it would be soon enough. Time flee from his sight and never been seen in his terrifying presence again.

 

_But she swore to repay the debt._

 

"... Yes, sir," she murmured, straightening out with a stiff motion. Hopefully the trip back would be far less exciting.

 

Not to mention, she'd never seen the capital city of Whiterun, before.

 

One would only hope the man-but-not-a-man out of myth and legend would do as the tales usually go. Perhaps he could be a hero.

 

* * *

 

“...please, don’t call me sir,” he stated, ascending the stairs.

“I want us to be equals in these travels. Besides, selling me ‘sir’ makes me feel older than I actually am,” he cracked a joke.

 

* * *

 

The joke didn't quite land. "You are older than me. And I must address you with respect, sir."

 

Stone cold. Apparently Liu assumed he was older than her, which may have been an easy thought... if she weren't an elf of ambiguous age, herself.

There was a hidden path out the cave that they could see, just past the word wall. The light was shining through, though dimmed now.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore just...let it slide. He wasn’t about to ask for her age either, since the last time he asked a woman for her age, a dagger got thrown at his head.

 

He begins trudging through the cave, and attempted to leave the Barrow.

 

Finally.

 

* * *

 

Mammoth bones. A view of a great lake stretched out before them, and the Whiterun plains dotted the horizon.

 

By then, it was well into evening, and the sun was setting across the sky.

 

They wouldn't have light for very long.

 

Liu looked vaguely miserable as she took in the length of the journey they would have to overcome to return.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore saw the distance between themselves and Whiterun, and of the sun beginning to set. He stayed quiet for a moment, before he spoke.

 

“Perhaps we should rest in Riverwood for the night. We can set out for Whiterun at dawn.”

 

* * *

 

The bosmer grunted an agreement, working her way down the slope.

 

It was so quiet as it is, and the animals gave them an incredibly wide berth. Liu was thankfully well versed in trekking through the forested areas, and had little trouble finding their way back to the road that led them there to begin with.

 

Liu was more than eager to get back and rest for as long as she was able to. She had a feeling it would become a rarity…

 

* * *

 

Somehow, Bruccore had the same feeling. He trekked with her back to the riverine town, keeping his eyes open for more bandits.

 

At some point on the way there, he'd ask:

 

"May I have the claw back? I can go ahead and return it to the owner of the Riverwood Trader, the one who asked me to return it in the first place. You can go ahead back to the inn and rest, I won't be far behind you."

 

* * *

 

She made a quick jump over a log, looking behind her to the Vigilant for a moment.

 

Oh, right. The claw.

 

"Yes, sir. All yours."

 

Poor choice of wording, perhaps. There was that flare up again, though surprisingly it was far more gentle a feeling.

 

It was subdued by the crushing, perhaps. It twisted in a greedy, grasping want but relented to its need to go elsewhere.

 

He might have to fight the urge to snatch it from her hands as she offered.

 

But it was such a lovely, shiny thing.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore fought the urge, indeed, to snatch the claw from her hands like some ravenous beast taking a choice cut of meat. Instead, he went...a bit more slowly than what one might expect of a normal transaction of items. As if he was hesitant to take it. Then, after the slow transaction, he hooks it to his belt, and nods to her.

 

"Thank you. When we get back, go ahead and rest. We'll be leaving at dawn. And...thank you, for all of your help today. I could not have done it without you."

 

Inwardly, Bruccore...congratulated the dragon. For learning that not everything should be ours. But for giving away this shiny object, they will be getting many gold coins in return. And that gold can then be spent on shinier things.

 

Like a parent teaching their child the pros and cons of sharing their favorite toy.

 

* * *

 

Gold spent on shinier things?

 

Indeed, it was much like teaching a child wild and new concepts. It was newborn, sprung from within him and having only half formed knowledge of What Once Was.

 

This may prove difficult if it ever reached teenager years in mentality.

 

"I'm glad to have been of use, sir," the bosmer's voice cut through his thoughts, quieter.

  


It will prove difficult to have her warm up to him, too.

 

* * *

 

If his dragon soul ever reached adolescent years in mentality, then Bruccore was going to have one damn of a hard time. Hopefully...hopefully, he can find someone. Anyone. To help him with this.

 

Then, broken out of his reverie by her words, he nods at her, remaining silent as they approach Riverwood once more.

 

He hopes he at least gets paid a decent amount for bringing back the claw.

 

* * *

 

The sun had entirely gone down by the time they got back, the new unit of guards sent in from Whiterun patrolling the walls of the tiny hamlet with torches.

 

They greeted them with a gruff acceptance, not questioning their appearance ... mostly.

 

Liu skittered away quickly back to the Inn, eager to get some rest herself.

 

The Riverwood Trader was closed by now, but he could probably knock, couldn't he?

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant gave the guards a respectful nod of acknowledgment as he passed them by, before making his way to the Riverwood Trader. He looked around, before raising his fist, and knocking on the door.

 

“Excuse me. It’s me, the Vigilant who went after the thief who stole your claw.”

Idly, he remembered he didn’t even ask the brother and sister duo for their names before he left to get their claw back.

 

* * *

 

There was a gentle scooting of chairs. They had likely been sitting down to eat supper at this time, the last of their business having likely been finished quite some time ago during their closing.

 

The voice of the Breton man quivered from behind the door. "You.. you, uh, you did?" The latch of the wooden door clicked open, swinging open to allow the Vigilant to enter. They were surprised at the sight of him-- and probably moreso at the... smells and blood, too.

 

He'd really done it.

 

The sister shot up from her seat, eyes wide.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore looked a little sheepish.

 

“I apologize for my unsightly appearance, but,” he pulls out the golden claw from his belt, offering it to the Breton man as he entered the shop proper.

 

“I did. Quite the tale, but here you are my friend.”

 

* * *

 

"H-hhaha, you did! You found it! There it _is!_ Strange," the man wondered after it, accepting the gold claw with a reverence, "... seems smaller than I remember, hhuh-- haha, funny thing, huh?"

 

Laughter, nervous, sharp. So, so grateful, but so shocked as well. "I'm going to put this right back where it belongs, I- I'll never forget this. You've done a great thing for me and my sister."

 

The man rushed quickly behind the counter to put the ornament back where it belonged, fishing out something heavy and jingling from below. A coin pouch.

 

"Now, I know we never discussed a reward, but... I can't in good conscious let you go without it, either."

 

Finally seeming to recover from the shock, the woman wandered close to the counter to touch at the solid gold with a finger. It was like she was trying to affirm it really was still there.

"It means so much to us to have the claw back where it belongs," she murmured, finally turning, "Thank you, stranger. So much."

 

The merchant swung back from behind the counter, approaching with the offered sack. It seemed very hefty…

 

* * *

 

Bruccore looked at the very hefty sack of gold. The dragon in him wanted to just accept it, to take it and leave.

 

But he was no dragon, he reminded himself, he was a man.

 

“Are you quite certain about this,” he asked, glancing from the sack of gold to the shopkeeper.

 

“This is...a lot of gold, after all.”

 

* * *

 

"Yes, please, I insist! It's the least I can do. You risked your life. This small sum is nothing compared to that, y-you know?"

 

It grew more insistent, then. Shiny gold. It meant that he COULD have it!

 

The woman smiled. "Lucan and I won't be sorely hurting if we do, if that's what you're concerned about. Really, it's alright!"

 

* * *

 

“Then...” Bruccore slowly reaches out, and takes the bag of gold, trying not to snatch it from the merchant’s hands. He hefted it up, not having a problem with its weight.

 

“Thank you, for your kindness. And thought it may be late now, my name is Bruccore Tailconis, Vigilant of Stendarr. It is a pleasure to meet the both of you.” The Breton nodded to the two.

 

* * *

 

"Ah!" The man thrust his hand out for shaking. "Lucan Valerius. You're a Breton too, then? And this is my sister Camilla, a-haha, I knew we had a kinship somehow!"

 

The now named Camilla smiled, eyes warming. Was she glancing his way with something of a coy look? "We'll never forget you, Vigilant Tailconis."

 

* * *

 

Bruccore smiles, taking Lucan’s hand with a firm shake.

 

Not too firm though—he doesn’t want to shatter the poor man’s hand.

 

And as he does so, he glances towards Camilla. A small, warm smile. Not quite coy, but not entirely innocent either.

 

And then he looks back to Lucan, as if nothing ever happened.

 

“I am! I originally hail from High Rock, albeit so many years ago. And I would love to discuss with you both some more, but it is getting late, and I am leaving at dawn for Whiterun once more. Thank you once more for your kindness.”

 

* * *

 

Her features flushed with red, looking away quickly to the cooking pot at the fire. This is fine. "Have a wonderful evening, safe travels!" She called out quickly, turned away as she was.

 

Lucan arched an eyebrow, but gave a boisterous laugh, "Of course, haha! Feel free to come back any time, friend! And you be safe out there, like she says."

 

* * *

 

“Thank you, friends. Stay safe, and may Zenithar bless your business.” With a small bow, the Vigilant leaves, closing the door behind him.

 

As he clicked the door shut, he allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk.

 

Still got his charms, it seems.

 

* * *

 

There was that greedy little dragon again, rearing its head, though it was less insistent and moreso equally satisfied with the feeling. But, then, there was an inward tugging of 'okay but not that one.'

 

Apparently it was picky.

 

There was some conversation going on outside the Sleeping Giant's Inn at his approach, the local bosmer and town drunk attempting to have a semblance of a conversation. Strangely, the archer gave him a shady look.

 

* * *

 

If anything, the idea of its dragon being picky who his ‘mate’ can be was comforting news. At least he wouldn’t have had to resist against himself every time an attractive man or woman looked at him funny.

 

And then he noticed the shady look. The Vigilant met the mer’s gaze with his own, more apathetic one. Then, the Breton walked down the road, and up the stairs of the inn, keeping an eye on the bosmer as he approached the door.

 

* * *

 

The shady look vanished as the Breton made eye contact, looking away to focus on the drunk again. Suspicious.

 

Hopefully they didn't intend on murdering him or anything the moment his back was turned.

 

The inn was even more crowded inside! It looked as though the Bard had just recently entered, having an uncomfortable conversation with one of the local children about what sort of song she wanted to hear tonight.

 

Ah, Alvor's girl.

 

He heard a familiar voice again. Orgnar called from behind the counter. "Hey there. Bed's open for you. Delphine said your tab's paid for tonight, it's the room right over there."

 

And yet Delphine was nowhere in sight. Hm.

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank you, friend!” He called over the crowd, before trying to get his way through to the room. His eyes wandered to Alvor’s girl, as well as to the bard, before he continued to his room.

 

Idly, he wondered where Delphine was, especially on a night like this.

 

* * *

 

Such questions would have to wait. And-- then, that's when he realized that the only bed available was one Liu was already occupying.

 

To be fair, she was far to the left side of the large double bed, and didn't take up much space... but considering the size of the Inn, this was likely the best they could do.

 

She was already long since passed out, expression slack.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore closed the door behind him—and he looked to the bed. And saw her there, already resting. He smiled faintly at seeing her at peace for once, before he began taking off his gauntlets and sabatons quietly, putting them aside. Then, he took out a blanket, laying down with his back against the wall, and pulling it over himself.

 

He’s had to sleep in worse conditions. Besides, he doesn’t want to take risks when there might be a different bosmer aiming for his throat.

 

With those thoughts lingering in his mind, he quickly drifts off to sleep.

  



	3. Tirdas, 29th of Last Seed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday, so y'all know what that means. New chapter of LotD!

_ Tirdas, Last Seed, 29th. _ __  
  


* * *

 

The light came in through the window, alerting the sleeping companions to the wake of dawn. The bosmer shifted in her sleep and groaned a little, not entirely ready to be awake. Or...

 

The groan became a discomforted, fitful whine, like somebody had kicked a dog.

 

Liu couldn't help the dreaming. The anxieties she'd pushed down for the trek, the reality sinking in of who she had sworn herself too.

 

She could see the burning. Reaching out to them. That mask burned holes in her mind, gripped by iron fists. 

 

Tell them. Tell them. Tell them who did it.

 

A shriek tore through her throat, the bosmer launching herself out of the bed in a skittering motion- ripped from sleep.   
  


* * *

 

Bruccore suddenly jerked awake, getting his mace at the ready, standing up from his previously prone position. Now on high alert, he looked around, trying to see who was attacking who...

 

And then he realized it was just them. 

 

He realizes, belatedly, that she had a nightmare. 

 

Most likely, about what he had done.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer couldn't even look at him. Wouldn't look at him, despite his defensive reaction. She blinked, cheek smearing against the wall. She wanted to curl up in the corner and lay there again a while.

 

But she couldn't. 

 

"Good morning, sir," she managed after a while, somewhat meek. She pulled herself to her feet.

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant...didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want to tell her ‘it was going to be okay’, or ‘I’m sorry’. 

 

He would just by lying to her. 

 

“Don’t call me sir,” he muttered. He tugged on his sabatons and gauntlets, before putting his knapsack back on.

 

“I don’t deserve any titles or anyone’s respect,” he states, before leaving the room.

 

* * *

 

For a long moment, the bosmer was left to her own thoughts.

 

Words were cheap and easy.

 

Liu Rey drifted to her things, gathering them. More than a few times, he'd proved himself to be fully capable of regret, and reparations. She still didn't know what it would take, either. 

 

Her dreams were still filled with blood.

 

Yet she swore. It would be so.

 

The woman exited the room to follow after him some time later, all packed up and ready to depart.

 

* * *

 

It was with apathetic, yet empty eyes that he greeted her. It was clear that he was rattled...or was he just not feeling anything? 

 

Whatever it was, it was clear he wasn’t acting. His heart was on his sleeve, and it was clear that Bruccore felt frankly terrible about the wrongs he had done.

 

Regret was etched onto his face, between the scars.

 

He looked up at her, and said not a word. Just a nod, and he untied his horse’s lead from the bannister. He mounted it, and offered her a hand up.

 

* * *

 

Down to Whiterun then. The bosmer was not quite as apparent about her emotions, but it was clear some of the fear had already begun to drain from her body. She was ready to move on.

 

... rather, she wanted to move on. 

 

An impossibility, in her mind. 

 

Liu grasped the hand, hefting up onto the back of the horse.

 

 

* * *

 

If it was an impossibility in her mind, it was a mountain in his. Without a word, he snapped the reins, and down they went. Out of the town, down the paved road...

 

And towards Whiterun.

 

And hopefully, some sense of peace beyond that.

 

* * *

 

Halfway there, it began to drizzle. A spec appeared in their path, dark robes and lanky figures.

 

It didn't take long to guess at who they were. 

 

The Thalmor were transporting a prisoner, a Nord from the looks, dressed in rags and tied like a stuck pig-- jostled and beaten and bloodied. Forced to walk on his own, and struggling.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore slowed down a bit. Watching them carefully as they approached. His blood began to boil at the sight of the beaten Nord. Normally, he would have chafed under the knowledge that there was nothing he could do, and move on.

 

But wait.

 

He was Dragonborn, now. A figure of myth and legend. Surely he could...

 

But first.

 

“Hail, friends,” he called out toward the Altmer.

 

“May I ask what his crimes are?”

 

* * *

 

The Inquisitor at the front narrowed their eyes, sneering considerably, "This is official Thalmor business, and you will not interfere. He has knowledge of a cult of Talos. He will tell us what we need to know, or he will die. The choice is his. Now, get out of our way."

 

Liu shifted uncomfortably behind the Vigilant's back. This was a normal sight in Skyrim these days....

 

* * *

 

He bristled under the fact that Talos was being referred to as a cult. But outwardly, he nodded, as if in understanding.

 

“Ah yes, in accordance to the White-Gold Concordat. Well, if you do not mind, may I at least heal him somewhat? It would speed up your progress going back, wouldn’t it?”

 

He stated. After all, it would be faster going moving with a man who wasn’t so damaged.

 

* * *

 

"That will not be necessary. Move along." The Justicar hissed behind the other man hissed through his teeth, all the elven eyes set upon them with withering glowers. 

 

The tension was close to snapping. Probably for the best he didn't press further unless he wished for a fight.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore’s inner dragon roared at the challenge, and the winds around him almost seemed to shift. The Altmer‘s primordial sixth sense may be able to detect that something was -off- about this Vigilant. 

 

As if they were mere sheep, staring at a wolf. 

 

But then—Bruccore nodded. And he kicked the horse again, and they trotted off.

 

Under his breath, he swore to Talos right then and there that one day, he’s going to burn their entire embassy to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Though the Thalmor knew better than to betray signs of weakness, there was at least a collective shiver at the end.

 

For her part, Liu wished he would have gone mace-happy on them. It was more than they deserved, really... 

 

Once they were sufficiently close to the stables, she decided to express as much. "... thought you were gonna fight 'em."

 

* * *

 

“I plan on doing so, one day. I plan on burning them to the damn ground. But right now...I’m only one man. When they least expect it, and when I have the numbers, I’m going to hit them hard and fast.”

 

...man’s got ambitions at least.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer didn't say anything to that. There was probably something particular sensitive about him talking about burning them to the ground.

 

... from the looks of things, though, the gates of Whiterun had re-opened. Farmers were passing to and from the path, as well as merchants with backpacks and bodyguards, all laden with product.

 

* * *

 

That was good, at least. The gates have reopened and trade has resumed.

 

Bruccore dismounted, and he walked through the gates into the city proper. Before he entered though, he stopped and turned to Liu.

 

“...sorry about. What I said. I...sorry.”

 

* * *

 

Liu opened her mouth, standing beside him at the gate. Then closed it.

 

What could she say?

 

"The Thalmor hurt a lot of people," was all she ended up saying in the end, downcast. She didn't give much room for thought past that, entering the city before him.

 

Whiterun was absolutely bustling with people. The shops were opening, and it was a relatively busy time of the week. Trade was prosperous in most of the Hold's capitals. The blacksmith was hammering away at the hot forge, and two bosmer argued in front of the building well off to the left.

 

* * *

 

Especially so in Whiterun, with it being smack dab in the center of the entire province. Bruccore managed to push his way past people, and tried to get up to the Cloud District. And from there, the Dragonsreach.

 

And beyond that? Redemption, hopefully. At some point.

 

* * *

 

At some point...

 

The woman and her daughter he easily recognized from the Bannered Mare. She offered him a somewhat friendly smile and a nod as he made his way towards the upper part of the City. It got a little cramped, and he found that Liu was sticking especially close to him in the crowds.

 

She looked uncomfortable. Whether because of the crowd or because of what happened, was unclear. She was not much for talking, after all.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore assumed that perhaps it was a mixture of both. 

 

He gave the mother and her daughter a friendly smile as he made his way up, ascending the stairs to the Cloud District. The Vigilant could see the withered ‘tree of life’, and beyond that, the statue of Talos, grim and grey.

 

An apt description for the province in general right now.

 

* * *

 

Liu gave the withered 'tree of life' a horrified look as well as they passed, murmuring something in her native tongue from the sounds of it. It was a first from what the Vigilant could hear.

 

Perhaps it was a plea or blessing for the poor loss of the tree?

 

Dragonsreach loomed above.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore silently sighed, and apologized to the Divines for his...emotional ups-and-downs today. 

 

It’s been a long three days for the Vigilant. 

 

Quickly, he begins to ascend the steps that lead to Dragonsreach, his ears pricked up as he hears the bosmer praying in her native tongue. It’s not the fire time he’s heard it, but it’s...

 

The first time he’s heard it without someone screaming it out.

 

Shaking his head, he continued ascending the steps.

 

* * *

 

A lone warmth filled him from within in comfort and inspiration as the doors loomed near. The source was unclear this time, but it stirred him to strive forward still.

  
  


Toward what was uncertain. The sky was bright and empty of clouds.

 

Liu nervously looked about, "Never been near a Jarl before."

 

* * *

 

He took that warmth gladly, as he approached the door, looking back at her.

 

“Thankfully we’re just talking to the court wizard right now. And if we do end up talking to the Jarl...address him as ‘my Jarl’, but don’t interrupt him, and don’t talk unless it’s clear he’s expecting you to. That’s...what I’ve been told, anyways.” 

 

And then, he goes to open the door to Dragonsreach.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer made a face. Whew boy. This wasn't going to be a fun time.

 

Much to perhaps their surprise, Farengar has an associate with them by the time they approach.

 

"You see it, yes? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I am convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I can use this to cross-reference the names with later texts..."

 

A familiar voice, though shrouded by the hood, spoke, straightening up from observing the table. "Good. I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have tangible answers."

 

The wizard -- he laughed? How odd. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest. I have all the time I need to devote to this research."

 

A hiss. "Time is running out, Farengar. This isn't theoretical anymore. The dragons are returning ..."

 

* * *

 

Bruccore listened for a moment, before speaking up as he entered the room.

 

“I’m afraid they are. Apologies for my lateness, Farengar and company,” he states, looking to the hooded figure. His eyes were then drawn back to the Wizard. 

 

He reached into his knapsack, and pulled out the hefty stone tablet, gingerly placing it on the table. 

 

“Thankfully for us, this was in Bleak Falls Barrow. Just as you said it could be.”

 

* * *

 

The associate remained quiet for the moment, shrouded as she was.

 

Farengar expressed his own surprise for sure. "Ah, you're back! You didn't die, and you have the stone? So it was there... it seems your information was correct," be glanced to the woman, "it was thanks to her that I knew where to look."

 

The wizard rapidly turned to the table now to look it over, ever eager.

 

Liu spoke up, muttering, "What're you gonna do with... a rock. How does that help with dragons."

 

Farengar huffed. "See, now, that is where your expertises end and mine begins. The work of a mind is often undervalued in Skyrim..."

 

* * *

 

“So let me take a guess, Farengar,” the Vigilant started, staring the wizard down.

 

“By examining a map of the burial mounds where the ancient Nords buried the dragons, you hope to go to one such burial mound—likely with an armed guard. From there, you also hope to investigate and hopefully turn up any clues, magical or otherwise, as to what or who is behind the return of the dragons. And from there, relying on the warriors to put an end to it.”

 

His steely gaze is on the wizard the entire time.

 

“Is that correct?”

 

* * *

 

The mysterious woman straight up laughed. It was warm and inviting, if a bit hoarse.

 

"Nice work." And then, to Farengar. "Send me a copy when you've deciphered it."

 

And with that, she departed.

 

The poor wizard was left to stunned silence, stammering. "Well, yes, that was... that was indeed the plan."

 

* * *

Bruccore wore a sickly sweet smile.

 

“Good! I’m glad to hear it,” he said with sarcasm dripping off every syllable. Finally, he dropped the act, deciding that he’s embarrassed the poor wizard enough. 

 

“Now. Is there anything else that I can do to assist you, or shall I go talk to a steward about a reward...?”

 

* * *

 

"Ah, yes. Avenicci is the one you'll want to speak with." The poor man was utterly withering.

 

Bruccore felt a sudden burst of hot dizziness burst throughout his body, like a burdened boulder wanting to burst from the seams of his body. 

 

A dunmer cried from down the hall.

 

"Farengar! The Jarl demands your presence. A dragon has been spotted nearby!"

 

* * *

 

He suddenly doubled over, clutching his head in his hands. He could almost feel himself sweating, he felt so hot and dizzy. 

 

After a moment, he managed to straight himself up. With a groan, he rubbed his head, at the pounding headache that just wouldn’t relent. 

 

Somehow, he innately understood what his dragon was trying to say.

 

Finally, a challenge!

 

* * *

 

Irileth rounded the corner as the Vigilant was straightening himself out. "You should come, too," she declared, tone grave. 

 

The wizard held no such grim fancy. "A dragon? How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

 

Hunger radiated up the man's spine. Hungry? To fight? A comforting hand touched at his back, Liu shooting a look toward him in sympathy. 

 

"I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon attacks Whiterun... I don't know if we can stop it. Come on. Let's go."

 

She marched.

 

* * *

 

Hunger. Dominate. Kill. Take.

 

Hunger for a fight? That doesn’t...seem quite right. Regardless, Bruccore stumbled forth the first few steps, before he marches behind Irileth, and follows the dunmer.

 

And he just remembered his steel cuirass is steel warped and compromised from the battle with the draugr. 

 

Great. He’s going to have to fight a dragon with compromised armor.

 

* * *

 

An ongoing conversation was already occurring by the time they got up the steps. A guard, breathless and shaking, stood speaking with the Jarl.

 

Balgruuf had a steadying hand on the man's shoulder as he listened. "...we saw it coming from the south. It was fast... faster than anything I'd ever seen. I've --" his voice broke, "never ran so fast in my life. It was just, just circling the western watchtower."

 

* * *

 

Bruccore listened intently, but remained quiet as he listened to the guard speak. 

 

A dragon. An actual dragon had come.

 

Part of him dreaded the idea of fighting one.

 

The other part could not wait to dominate.

 

* * *

 

"Good work, son," the imposing Nord praised the guard, "We'll take it from here. Head down to the barracks to get some food, and rest. You have earned it."

 

He snapped toward the dunmer at once. "Irileth! You had best gather your men and get down there."

 

She saluted at once. "I've already ordered my men to muster near the main gates."

 

A grim nod. "Do not fail me."

 

Jarl Balgruuf turned toward the motley two before him. His expression hard. "There is no time to stand on ceremony, my friends. I need your help. You are the only one among us who's had the closest encounter with a dragon."

 

* * *

 

The only ‘close’ experience they had was Bruccore seeing one from a distance, and Liu trying not to get killed by one.

 

Shows how desperate they were, didn’t it? 

 

The Vigilant, however, only nodded.

 

“We never planned on standing aside and watched. We’re going to go help, my Jarl.” His expression was grim, yet...why did he feel confident? 

 

He felt like was about to go out on a hunt.

 

* * *

 

Talk about speak for yourself! Liu Rey's eyes widened to the size of saucers in alarm, though she kept her mouth shut.

 

The man had more strength than than more mortal men. If anybody could slay a dragon... maybe it could be him. And maybe they would see if that 'legend' he mentioned was true.

 

Though would a Dragonborn not be friends with Dragons? She wasn't sure, yet, on that part.

 

Relief flitted across Balgruuf's face. His pride was not so high upon the horse as to avoid the question. "I have not forgotten your service in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar," he breathed out quickly, "and I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in our city. A token of my esteem."

 

And then, as if noticing the compromise in the man's armor, the man quickly looked away to said steward. "Fetch the cuirass." Eyes glanced back. "And please, accept this gift from my personal armory. It seems you'll need it."

 

The Jarl knew the implications of allowing a former outlaw such as this Beast to afford some purchase within the city, and yet...

 

He offered a silent prayer to Talos. That his trust in men would not go displaced. That they would return alive, and that today would be the day of dragonslayers, as the ancient Nords once were.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore knew, deep down, that either he would return a dragonslayer, or not at all. Defeat was not going to be an option.

 

Both himself and his dragon seemed to agree on that point. 

 

He nodded at the Jarl, a grim expression on his face.

 

“Thank you, my Jarl, for your generosity. I assure you, we’ll return victorious.” 

 

His was the face of a man who knew that destiny, one way or another, had arrived. And yet...

 

The unknown Dragonborn seemed awfully confident, didn’t he?

 

* * *

 

"I should come along. I would -- would VERY much like to see this dragon," the wizard interjected, much to the Jarl's dismay.

 

His hand rose. "No. I can't afford to risk both you and Irileth. I need you here, working on ways to defend the city against these beasts." The dunmer furrowed her brows at that, watching the steward stumble back in with a heavy bundle in his arms.

 

Though he deflated, Farengar relented with a short, "As you command."

 

"One last thing," Balgruuf straightened out, "Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with."

 

Her blackened eyes narrowed. "Do not worry, my lord. I'm the very soul of caution."

 

With that, she turned to march down the steps.

 

Avenicci offered the heavy bundle to Bruccore, and he would discover a steel plate cuirass inside. It was of a near immaculate make, to be expected of one such as the Jarl.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore easily took the heavy bundle, and unwrapped it to reveal the steel plate cuirass. His eyes widened slightly at its make, before he gave a respectful nod to the steward, as well as the Jarl. 

 

He ducked into a private, yet abandoned room for a moment to change into the cuirass. He obviously didn’t want to face a dragon in compromised armor. After he did so, however, he walked out, and spoke to Liu.

 

“If you do not wish to come with me, then that is fine by me. Whether or not you come is entirely your decision; of your own volition to choose. I am not going to force you to stare down a dragon.”

 

* * *

 

It was a bit like coming to terms with the possibility of your own death-- and there wasn't quite enough time, was there?

 

Yet...    
"Have made peace with Y'ffre already, the very first time I stared down the black beast," she carefully wrung her hands together, "I swore to serve. It would not feel right to abandon these people."

 

Liu Rey was ready to fight, in her own way.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore...slowly nodded.

 

“You need not serve someone you do not wish to. But...if you will come with me as an equal, then I will be glad to have you.”

 

* * *

 

Skeptical was one word for her expression, but it faded after a moment.

 

This man had all the chances in the world to kill her already, even the night before. 

 

"Let's go try to kill a dragon, then."

 

Irileth did say she'd be gathering at the main gate.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore jogged with the bosmer down to the main gate, trying to find Irileth...and hopefully, a battalion of guards with her.

 

* * *

 

Battalion was... not the word for what he was dealing with here.

 

A handful, at best, in fact. Irileth was in the midst of a speech by the time they arrived, addressing the fearful men with all the ferocity she could muster from the pits of her spirit.

 

"... a dragon. I don't care where it came from, or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun."

 

A nervous stammer came from one of the axe wielding guards, shield clattering, "But Housecarl. How can we attack a dragon?"

 

The dunmer's eyes closed. "That's a fair question.  None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle." Her shoulders lifted. "But we are honorbound to fight it! Even if we fall! This dragon is threatening our homes, our families."

 

She pointed to them, voice booming, "Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?! It's more than our honor at stake here."

 

Her hand swept out. "Think of it. The first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age! The glory of killing it is ours, if you're with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill ourselves a dragon?!" 

 

"Yeah!"

 

"Damn-- damn right! For Skyrim!"

 

Liu and Bruccore's onlooking stares were accompanied by others, it seemed. As a cacophony of clanking armor joined them, familiar faces to the Vigilant.

 

"You won't stand alone on this one, Housecarl," the huntress stood proud amongst the two others with her, musclebound men who looked to be siblings in pristine, steel armor.

 

The taller one uttered, "The Companions have always defended Whiterun, and do so once more."

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant turned around, his face most likely recognizable by the Companions as the one who kneecapped a giant.

 

Thank the Divines that this group had some legendary warriors, now.

 

“It is good to see that the Companions will stand with us on this day.” A smile graced his scarred visage, a warm, relieved smile.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, they didn't seem all too distressed or concerned at him joining them. Irileth looked relieved, however, raising her blade. 

 

"Let's move out, then!"

 

The guardsmen rattled their shields, hooting and hollering in agreement. The Companions shouted alongside them-- ah, Nords. Liu Rey half-smiled, encouraged by their battle cries.

 

The Gates were opened to them, and even from there they could see the plumes of smoke rising from the watchtower.

 

They wasted no time.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore grinned at the battle cries of the Nords, and he ran out alongside them.

 

His eyes were drawn to the smoke of the watchtower. He prayed to Stendarr for the safety of those who were already there.

 

And then he prayed to Talos, beseeching Him to grant him and his companions the strength today to become like the dragonslayers of yore.

 

* * *

 

It was eerie, the silence.

 

Irileth didn't trust it one bit. "No signs of the beast," she muttered, "but it sure looks like it's been here. I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened. Spread out! Look for survivors, tend the wounded! We need to know what we're dealing with."

 

She hadn't needed to order them twice. The guardsmen scattered, helping to pick through the flames to carry their people to safety.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore moved as well, using his Restoration magic to tend to the wounded, healing those who could not normally move. He was saving part of his magicka, however.

 

He never knew when that dragon might come back.

 

* * *

 

He never knew.

 

Or did he? 

 

The Vigilant's stomach dropped, time seeming to come to a crawl as one of the injured carried by one of the Companion twins shouted from afar. "No-- no, leave me! Get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki-- Hroki and Tor g-got grabbed when they tried to run!" The injured guard's sobbing was punctuated by a distant, ear rattling roar.

 

It was coming.

 

One of the guards gaped up at the sky, shuddering, "Talos save us... it's a dragon!"

 

Irileth snapped her head to the man, shouting, "What?! Which way did it go? Quickly!" 

 

The injured man was rushed off into the arms of another, even as he wailed in terror. "I don't know ... Kynareth save us, here it comes again!"

 

* * *

 

Bruccore readies his mace, and part of him was...

 

Excited.

 

Excited by the prospect of a challenge. Finally, something that can stand up to his might. Something that won't just roll over and -die- after the first hit.

 

The other half of him was absolutely terrified. A dragon, right out of the myths and legends. A beast that no mere mortal men can slay. 

 

Then again...

 

The Vigilant clenched his fist. He was no mere mortal man. 

 

He was Dragonborn. And that would have to be enough.

 

**"HOLD FAST!"** He called out, raising his mace to the heavens.

 

**"HOLD FAST, FOR STENDARR STANDS WITH US THIS DAY! HOLD FAST, FOR GLORY AND FAMILY!"** He practically roared, as he felt his inner dragon stir uncomfortably in his stomach.

 

If he can terrify his foes, then so too shall he inspire his allies with his voice.

 

* * *

 

Terror and courage blossomed in his chest. Now was the time to fight! The encouragement had an affect on those around him, as if revitalizing the bravery of the men surrounding him.

 

They roared in time with one another, slamming shields. The archers took aim as the bare breath of the dragon came into view.

 

Death itself, nearly.

 

It wasn't the black dragon that had attacked Helgen that day, which all but confirmed the hooded figure's warning.

 

The Dragons are returning.

 

Liu nocked an arrow, letting several fly already from her bow. She felt a rush, from all the shouting and pounding. Could they really fight that thing?

 

The tremendous thing was pelted by arrows and magic, inhuman roars making the ground tremble beneath them.

 

And then it spoke.

 

" **Dii raxxe wah hin hruus!** " 

 

My teeth to your neck, it screamed at them all, and flames gathered within its maw. It was about to breathe fire.

 

* * *

 

And yet, despite knowing that Death itself has come for their lives, Bruccore felt...

 

Invigorated.

 

But as he saw the dragon about to breathe fire in the defenseless guards, he had an idea. From what little he knew about dragons, based on what his own soul wanted, he could guess that power meant everything to the flying beasts. So, to grab it’s attention away from the guards...

 

**”DRAGON! YOUR FIRE LOOKS WEAK! COME, TEST IT AGAINST ME!”** Called the Vigilant, betting on the fact that an insult to its pride was going to anger it more than the arrows were. And hopefully, aim for him.

 

Just in case, he threw up a steadfast ward, ready for the incoming fire breath.

 

* * *

 

The dragon reared its head back. There was a moment frozen in time as the others around him looked on in horror.

 

All of its ire had turned onto him!

 

* * *

 

So its name was Mirmulnir...

 

There was barely a moment left to process that, as not but moments later the thunderous voice erupted in a gout of flames.

 

" **YOL!** "

 

* * *

 

Bruccore had his ward ready--and holy shit it was hot.

 

The ward barely managed to hold up against the dragon's flames, nearly dissipating to nothingness before the gout ended. Bruccore gasped as what remained of his magicka almost completely ran out in that one attack. With his left thumb, he reached into his pack, pulling out a magicka potion. With a swift swig, the liquid went down, before he tosses the empty glass aside.

 

As it stood, he needed to get that dragon onto the ground, -now-. Arrows were doing barely anything to it, and they only had so many. So, Bruccore shouted again.

 

**"MIRMULNIR! ARE YOU SO COWARDLY THAT YOU MUST FLY TO FACE US? SURELY YOU ARE NOT SCARED OF THE -DIRT-?"**

 

* * *

 

"Zu'u bahlok!" It seethed with fury, hovering in the air as it was. 

 

It hungered. That was a familiar feeling to Bruccore by now, and something within stirred in an equally powerful motion. Kip Jot Naak!

 

A time to feast.

 

Unfortunately for the dragon, all of its ire meant little focus on the rest of the arrows pelting him. And one bosmer in particular who had clambered atop a nearby broken wall. 

 

The arrow whizzed through the air, striking the beast in the eye.

 

It wailed in agony, incensed and enraged, twisting its body around to dive directly down to the ground and collide with the earth below. He got what he wanted, but now its teeth and jaws were snapping close to everyone else.

 

The other Companions dove in, not so much as hesitating at the beast's approach.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore, to his credit, did not hesitate either. He rushed, faster than any mortal man had any right to be, with his mace raised and a roar coming from his lips. With his orcish mace raised, he brought it down with both arms, in an attempt to shatter the bony crest that was the dragon's skull. 

 

Lost in the lust of battle against a fellow dragon, he unconsciously licked his lips. He was hungry, and there was a feast right here, just waiting for him!

 

* * *

 

**CRACK.**

 

The orcish mace impacted the crest, shattering skin and breaking off scales and hide.

 

Blood sprayed from it, the roaring becoming deafening.

 

But it wasn't done yet. It wasn't a mortal like the foes before then.

 

It brought down its snarling jaws to him instead, suffering wounds from all sides at a dizzying rate.

 

* * *

 

And then his left arm was now in the dragon's maw.

 

Bruccore roared in both pain and fury as his left arm was nearly entirely severed. Yet, if anything, the massive amount of blood he was losing just made him angrier.

 

He brought his mace up, and then back down on the dragon. Up and down, up and down. Again and again and again he swung with his orcish mace, trying to both kill the dragon and dislodge its jaw.

 

* * *

 

It was a horrific and bestial sight.

 

The mace pounded and pounded, the dragon's jawhold on the Vigilant only serving to become its death sentence.

 

The huntress' eyes went wide with wonder. The others, once roaring, stood quiet in awe and wonder as the monster was turned into a bloody pulp.

 

With one last jarring impact, the skull split.

 

And all around them could hear its final breath.

 

"Dovahkiin? No!... no..."

  
  


It collapsed into the ground, eyes rolling up as it died a final death.

 

Unsettling.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore took a moment to breath...

 

And then the pain finally settled in, and he had to grit his teeth to not scream. The Vigilant dropped his mace, and his right hand went to push the dragon's skull up, while his left foot went to push the jaw downwards. Slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, the Breton brought his arm off of the massive tooth that was impaling it. Blood flowed from the gaping hole in his arm like water from a spring, and the man seemed awfully pale. His right hand, shaking, began to flow with Restoration magics into the wound. Slowly, ever so slowly, the wound began to close.

 

"Damn that stings..." He muttered. Seemingly completely unbothered by the fact that he turned a dragon's skull to mush.

 

* * *

 

"Something's happening ..."

 

Irileth's voice was far away by the time he heard it.

 

The feast had only just begun. 

 

The flesh of the Dragon began to peel away as an aetheric energy swirled and encompassed the great creature's corpse.

 

It was a storm, whisked away and surging--

 

And colliding straight into Bruccore.

 

It was better than the largest meal, the longest sleep, the hottest touch. Pure power, condensed, strengthening him and feeding and fueling.

 

He could shout to the heavens and it would truly hear him now.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore was still deep in the healing of the hole in his arm when he finally looked up--

 

Just as the storm began to collide into him. 

 

The magic suddenly stops flowing as all his mental processes just. Stop. He stops thinking, stops realizing there's even a world or where he is.

 

All he knows is that he feels  **better than he ever has in his life.**

 

Unbeknownst to him, his body just. Collapses. And he begins to laugh hysterically, at the sheer high that is flowing into him.

 

* * *

 

"What..."

 

The guardsman exploded into a sea of questions, asking one another the same thing. Had they seen that? What was happening? Did they really kill a Dragon?

 

The Companion twins were mostly oblivious, roaring at one another and cheering at one another in grasping embraces.

 

The Huntress watched. She knew better.

 

Liu skidded down the rock, shouting.

 

"Mister Bruccore! Answer me! Are you okay!?"

 

More than okay. The Dragon felt sated for once. This was its purpose. Its desire. It wanted more.

 

Praise Kyne for her gift! Praise Akatosh for his glory! Your Voice!

 

* * *

 

And finally, after another moment of hysterical laughter, he jerks up, gasping in pain.

 

”AH SHITE THAT HURTS!” He yells, as the pain of the arm slams into him a second time, and his right hand begins healing the wound once more.

 

After a moment, he looks up at Liu, grinning despite the fact that he was covered in his own blood. Well, that, and the blood of the freshly-slain dragon. 

 

“Anyways...ah shite that stings...that was a great shot. Right in his eye.”

 

* * *

 

"Your voice is weird," she muttered numbly, shaking wildly from adrenaline, "did you see that? They're all looking at you. It did something to you."

 

Irileth barked at her men. "Quit gawking! All that matters here and now is that we WON. We've proved we CAN kill a dragon!"

 

* * *

 

Bruccore, shakily, stood up. He could feel his throat burning, and yet everything else felt so cold.

 

Probably from the blood loss, he told himself.

 

Regardless, he leaned on Liu as he raised his head to the heavens. And then, he Shouted.

 

**”FUS!”**

 

* * *

 

A blast wave erupted from his throat, thrusting upward and skattering grass and ash and thundering in noise.

 

Though many eyes were already locked on him, they all trained their gaze upon him now.

 

There was an explosion of noise from the guards, first.

 

"Talos saved us..."

 

"The legends! It's true! Dragonborn!"

 

"Did you hear that? He shouted!"

 

With a cold flicker and curious hum, the Huntress turned away, beckoning to the staring Companions for them to depart. 

 

Liu almost staggered and lost her grip of him, eyes widening. "You- you made that noise that Draugr did," she stammered.

 

Force. Thu'um.

 

* * *

 

"Yes. That was...that was a Shout. It's a thing only the ancient Nords and the Dragonborn...can do..." He staggered a bit, before leaning on her a bit more heavily. Wow, he was -really- pale.

 

"Mind if we uh...go back to Whiterun? Feel like I'm about to pass out..."

 

* * *

 

"I've got you," Liu muttered, then HISSED at the staring nords like a wild animal!

 

"Get on with you! He is not a display for you to fawn over!"

 

Irileth's voice shouted further down the road. "Fall in at once, ALL of you!"

 

The guards scattered immediately, though some kept glancing behind.

 

The bosmer wrapped a securing arm under him, patting down his pack to cram another one of his magicka potions into him.

 

"Don't fall on me now.. let's get going." She was able to at least let him lean on her as they walked.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore drank the magicka potion eagerly, but it was not something that healing or potions could fix. His wounds were healed, but now it was just the massive loss of blood that had him weak. The only thing that can fix that was time and rest.

 

The Vigilant muttered under his breath as he walked forward with her, feet practically dragging.

 

"Sorry for...making you do this..."

 

* * *

 

"Cease apologies," she muttered, "or I might change my mind."

 

The hard tone was almost a jest. She had little intention of dropping the man.

 

A Dragonborn. She had no idea the level of ramifications it had, but those men were looking at him in fear, awe, reverence. 

 

Liu hadn't been prepared for this sort of thing... Y'ffre, give her the strength to persist...

 

The gates were still opened by the time she'd managed to drag him through. The Guards were chattering and shouting and pouring into the barracks, the Companions were gathering in a massive crowd outside the Smithy as the woman pressed each brother for answers. 

  
  


A veritable crowd of onlookers.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore...just wanted to rest. But he knew he had to report to the Jarl, sooner rather than later. So he finally managed to get on his own two feet,  after nodding to Liu in thanks. He walked, past the onlookers that saw him absolutely -covered- in blood from head to toe, with the armor and robes over his left arm torn to bits. He continued onwards, trying to get to the Cloud District.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, he didn't get to go very far past the crowds.

 

The skies suddenly opened above them, the very clouds parting. Voices descended from the mountains! They were so loud they nearly pierced the ears, but it wasn't painful at all.

  
  


**DOH... VAH... KIIN...**

 

He would quickly realize the ENTIRE town heard that, and almost all the nearby eyes locked onto him.

 

* * *

 

He had to bite back a sigh.

 

The entire town? From how loud it was, he wouldn't be surprised if all of -Skyrim- knew now. 

 

He pressed onwards, trying to ignore the eyes on him.

 

The newly-borne Dragonborn had a feeling it was a feeling he had to get used to, and soon.

 

* * *

 

Liu was doing a fairly good job of outright hissing and screeching at people who got too close to try and ask questions, even kicking away a Nordic traveller at one point who tried to GROVEL as it is.

 

Of course, he felt that unsettling stir of the Dragon who was quite pleased by all their attention.

 

As they should!

 

Thankfully the crowds had disappeared by the time they got to Dragonsreach. The doors were being opened for them already, though.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore wobbled through the doors, thanking the guards as him and Liu passed through them. 

 

He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the traveler who tried groveling at his feet. His Dragon loved it, but him...

 

As soon as they made it through the doors, the Vigilant began walking a bit faster, as fast as he dared in his condition. Up the stairs he went, with great effort. And then, he began approaching the Jarl’s throne.(edited)

 

* * *

 

Balgruuf was pacing by the time they returned, his advisors murmuring in shocked surprise. Especially so the LARGE Nordic man, who was clearly praying to Talos.

 

The Jarl turned.

 

"You've returned! Is it done? Did you do it? Did you slay this dragon?"

 

His question rang throughout the great hall.

 

* * *

 

The Breton spoke up, trying to speak past the dizziness.

 

“We did! The dragon has been slain. There were only few casualties...and it’s dead.”

 

* * *

 

"I knew I could count on Irileth and the others, but there must be something more to it," the man insisted.

 

The large Nord man to his left glanced briefly toward the breton, expression hard. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?"

 

Balgruuf's expression tightened. "We all heard the summons. What else could it be? The Greybeards..."

 

* * *

 

“‘Dovahkiin’...” he starts, and his heart drops into his stomach.

 

“That means ‘Dragonborn’, yes? Does that not mean they are calling for...”

 

“They’re calling for me, then.” And he just admitted it. That he is Dragonborn.

 

* * *

 

The two Nords before him didn't even QUESTION it. There was something about him ...

 

"So it's true. The Greybeards really were summoning you."

 

The bosmer grimaced. "They can wait. He needs rest."

 

Balgruuf realized a few moments later how pale and bedraggled the "legendary" dragonborn was.

 

"Yes... true. Whatever happened when you slew that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. Do not rush yourself, but to be summoned to High Hrothgar  is a great honor. I would not decline. I envy you... to climb the 7,000 steps again. When I was young, I made the pilgrimage myself."

 

He straightened out. "We will never forget what you have done for city. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It is the highest honor within my power to grant."

 

"Go now, and rest. I'll have my steward deliver a fitting reward to you soon enough."

 

The mountain of a man had turned away, muttering, "... this hasn't happened in centuries ... not since Tiber Septim himself ... when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

 

* * *

 

Bruccore just limply nodded.

“Thank you, my Jarl. I apologize for my...appearance...”

 

Almost in a trance, he stumbles down the stairs, and begins walking off. Idly, in the back of his mind, he wondered what kind of reward he was going to get.

 

He also reminded himself that he needed to clean his mace soon. With how much blood it’s been soaked in these past few days, it needs to be cleaned.

 

And -he- needs to get clean soon, as well. The Vigilant is -covered- in blood, both his and that of the dragon’s.

 

* * *

 

"Come on, big guy," the woman muttered encouragingly, "the inn should have a bath. Cleaned up and rested. You will get sick. VERY sick. If you don't. Blood has sickness."

 

Liu was very insistent, and just as protective the whole way down through the Cloud District. Her muscles were screaming in strain from practically carrying them...

 

But they did eventually make it to the Bannered Mare.

 

The atmosphere ... was a bit more hushed, but thankfully nobody recognized the dirty Breton right away yet.

 

* * *

 

“...I wonder if I can get sick now, if I’m part dragon,” he muttered under his breath to her.

 

Do dragon’s get sick? He can’t imagine one sneezing—oh wait, yes he can, now he’s laughing. Blood loss tends to lead to delirium, and here it comes.

 

Bruccore manages to get up to his room, and he gets the water running in the tub. Then, he looks down at his clothes, then up to Liu.

“I can...handle the rest. Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

"Passing out trying to clean. More embarrassing. Barely held together." The bosmer muttered, scratching as her bloodied, ratty cheek.

 

Liu didn't look comfortable, but also stubborn at some prospect. Hopefully not some foolish attempt at trying to pay back the debt quicker.

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant opened his mouth, as if to argue back...before realizing he could barely -stand-. Once he got into a prone position, there's nothing preventing him from just passing out then and there. Finally, he slowly nods.

"Fine. If you're...sure..."

 

* * *

 

"Men are too modest." The bosmer grunted, shutting the door behind her. It was obvious she meant humans, but it was a little comical in context with his incredibly egotistical dragon inwardly.

 

Liu let her backpack drop beside the door, removing her cloak and weapons and most of her outer layers until she was merely rags underneath.

 

Mainly for comfort, likely.

 

Then she padded to the Breton to peel the bloodied armor off his exhausted body. "You laughed."

 

* * *

 

He stayed quiet for a moment, before responding.

 

"The soul, of the dragon that I...consumed. It felt...like pure, raw adrenaline. It felt...amazing."

 

Then, he frowned.

 

"I didn't know I was laughing."

 

* * *

 

"You ate it. Dragonborn do this?" The steel thudded on the floor, fingers working to unlace straps and hooks for his robes.

 

"You did. Rolled upon the ground. I worried. Like skooma laughter. Hysterical."

 

* * *

 

"Yes. The Dragonborn..." He helps her out as he explains.

 

"From what I know, the Dragonborn...eats the souls of dragons. That way, they stay dead."

 

"And as for the laughter...sorry. I wasn't prepared for it, I guess."

 

* * *

 

"I don't know. I think I would laugh too." The bosmer flicked his ear, to both jostle and awaken him.

 

"Quit apologies. Saying sorry too much lessens the word. No meaning."

 

Liu dipped her hand into the water to test it. "Arms up. Then pants. Then you get in."

 

* * *

 

The Vigilant was almost tempted to say ‘sorry’, or ‘apologies, mother’, but right now he felt like a stiff breeze could knock him over. 

 

He flinched as she flicks his ear, as if he’s caught totally off guard by it. Then, shaking his head as if to clear it, he raised his arms, trying to get his robes and armor off himself.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer strained with effort, peeling the sweaty, bloodied things off him. They could probably pay someone to clean these things, really ...

 

Thankfully the armor was a little easier to get off past the cuirass. Gauntlets. Boots.

 

Liu muttered something in her native tongue again.

 

* * *

 

“What was that,” he muttered in return, looking over to her.

 

His bare body, now that it could be seen, was absolutely riddled with scars. Melt marks. Long, deep gouges. Shallow cuts. Puncture wounds, arrow wounds...

 

Man must have had a life like a walking training dummy. 

 

Slowly, he gets into the tub, letting out a small sigh of relief as the grime and blood wash off him, dirtying the water almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

"Blessing." She didn't explain further.

 

Liu was not... a tender bather, to say the least. The soap and scrubbing came almost immediately after, the lathering a bit grabby and unbothered.

 

Ah, yeah. There's that zero modesty. Just a task to clean.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, Bruccore would not have thought she’d be a tender bather in any lifetime. And he didn’t want her to be.

 

The fact that she was doing this at all was, well, embarrassing. Somewhere along the line, he had reclaimed his modesty. 

 

“...thanks. For having my back out there.”

 

* * *

 

"Better than to die. We would have died. They would have died. You saved them. Don't forget it. Okay?"

 

At least in her handling of his hair, she was much easier on him. Like a massage of his scalp, fingers digging in to get the grime out.

 

* * *

 

“...okay. I won’t forget.” His hair was naturally rather curly, brown with streaks of grey in it. 

 

Oddly, there wasn’t a ridiculous amount of grime in it. He must have tried his best to take care of himself on the road.

 

“Can you tell me about Y’ffre,” he suddenly asked out of nowhere. Eyes still trained ahead.

 

* * *

 

"Oh." Her eyes went huge like saucers. A question she hadn't expected from him. The men of Talos were not always so keen on the elves and their own gods.

  
  


... they could blame the Altmer for that.

 

"Y'ffre... blessed bones of the earth. The Singer, the Storyteller, the Spirit of the Now, God of Song, of Forest. He was the first of many spirits, but we give thanks to him for our perception of time as we know it. Day and Night. The very structure of life and nature, is breathed through him."

 

Her eyes flickered. "Y'ffre in every leaf, as they say."

 

* * *

 

He slowly nods.

 

“Is that why you don’t eat fruit or vegetables?” The Vigilant asked, more than a bit curious as to who Y’ffre was.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer blinked, then chuckled. "It is part of our pact! Our Green Pact, through which we are connected to Him. All of plantlife is sacred, and it is forbidden to eat or use it. In exchange, our bond runs deep to the very heart of Valenwood. We can shape the bones of the earth to our needs without hurting it."

 

Liu crinkled her eyes a little. "Outside of Valenwood, it is okay. We can tell what is sacred. But most are so used to our diets, we cannot conceive otherwise."

 

* * *

 

“I see...huh.” He seems surprised, but legitimately interested in this. Like he was interested in her connection to Y’ffre as he was to Y’ffre himself.

 

“Does this Pact have to do with why you have antlers?”

 

* * *

 

Liu nodded slowly. "A reminder of what we once were. Before the Pact, we were born of chaos. Ever changing, calamitous, monstrous. Animal and plant all at once, shifting always."

 

A wet finger touched to the tip of the antler. "It is a reminder that we owe our stable forms to Y'ffre."

 

* * *

 

"...and eating people gives you their strength, yes?" He wonders aloud. He didn't seem to be judging. Curious, is all.

 

* * *

 

"Meat Mandate. We must consume the fallen of our enemies in three days time. Respect and cherishing. We ... do not often engage in larger wars before of this." Oh. Was that a joke? Maybe not.

 

"But yes. We believe it adds to our own strength. Sometimes I forget it's not... usual. We try not to think about our otherness. Or how many monsters of Nirn sprung from our blood."

 

* * *

 

"'Monsters of Nirn'?" He turned around, looking at her now.

 

* * *

 

"We were ever shifting, ever changing... but ... if we feel it right. We can call upon a terrible justice and join with the Wild Hunt, and return to that visage. A monstrous sea of ever changing animals and bugs and trees and beasts."

 

Liu gently set aside the soap, frowning. "But you cannot return from it. At least, most do not. Only if you wish to enact revenge. It is not something easily decided on. Those who lost themselves to the hunt, became many monsters that now haunt the lands."

It sounded as if she'd considered it, once.

 

* * *

 

A terrible revenge. Bruccore read between the lines, and realized that he almost caused her to turn into an enormous mass of the justice of the wilds.

 

"...and so, some bosmer risk it all for revenge, and turn into the Wild Hunt, knowing that there's a very good chance they'll never come back from it?" He asked, to affirm that was indeed what she was saying. 

 

Part of him is terrified by the prospect.

 

Part of him--mainly, the Dragon part--feels honored that someone would do such a thing just to take him down.

 

* * *

 

Water trickled down the top of his head, washing out the soap. Liu looked him over. As clean as he'll get, it seems. She moved off to grab a towel.

 

"That's right. Usually if they feel there is nothing left to live for. Usually if they have lost everything in their life already. To embrace the Song of Chaos."

 

* * *

 

"Not a decision to be made lightly, then..."

 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he steps out of the tub.

 

* * *

 

A towel was smushed against his stomach, watching the water drain with a distant look.

 

And then she started to fill it again. Hey, she gotta wash, too.

 

"No. Never. I can change my form a little, though... I was going to be a Spinner, once. Storytellers that can change the song."

 

* * *

 

He takes the towel, and covers his lower half with it. The Vigilant walks away, keeping his back to her.

 

"A Spinner? How do you change the 'song', if I may ask?" He's still a bit wobbly, but he's getting better.

 

* * *

 

The rags dropped to the ground, the skinny mer jumping into the tub readily after for herself. Sludge party.

 

"I can't tell you," she regarded him with a bit of a side-eyed stare, "we do have some secrets."

 

* * *

 

"Well, that's fair I suppose," he relents.

 

"I'm not exactly going to tell you the secrets of Breton knights, either."

 

* * *

 

"Hmh. Enchanted peoples, born of mer and men both." She scrubbed herself down. Liu frowned severely, as if in consideration. 

 

"I wonder.. which Mer in your blood. Besides dragon. An Emperor was part Mer once."

 

* * *

 

"Truth be told, I'm part Nord and part Dunmer. Both ash and snow flow in my veins," he states, beginning to dry himself off fully.

 

He's still not turning around, by the way. She may not have modesty, but he sure does.

 

* * *

 

Just as well. Probably for the best, wasn't it? 

 

"Fire and ice. Hm. Poetic. Should have been a poet. Less problems."

 

The dry cut humor again, like a knife.

 

* * *

He winced under the dry humor, before he decides to reply with it.

 

"Definitely would've resulted in me losing less blood, most likely..."

 

* * *

 

"But far less time being bathed by a woman."

 

The knife dragged a bit deeper, the bosmer apparently not above teasing him as some sort of loveless ape.

 

For Liu, the biting jokes certainly helped her mood.

 

* * *

 

Banter? He can do banter. Besides, he's not about to take this lying down either.

 

"There is a breton woman in Riverwood that I'm certain would have -loved- to bathe me," he states, his Dragon feeling just a bit better after that comment.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer made a mildly disgusted 'ugh' sound, "And you'd be fighting the two stupid heads of that village for her. Hot commodity. I know the one. Saw her at the tavern. Desired like fresh meat."

 

Ah, right. She got to spend more time with the towns folk than he did.

 

* * *

 

"The two...idiot heads?" He paused.

 

"...are one of them that bosmer archer male?"

 

* * *

 

Her head turned, huffing. "Yes. Yes, yes. I heard. Faendal. Soft and alone. The other one, the bard. Glowering. Like wolves about to snap at throats."

 

* * *

 

His nose upturned.

 

"She definitely did not seem to show any interest in either of them."

 

* * *

 

The woman turned, gripping the side of the tub. A vicious grin spread across her face. "Oh? Is that so? How do you not know she simply made moon eyes at big, strong Breton who did her a favor, hm? You of all people should be careful of women. In these times, now. Especially. They'll bed you for fame. If you're not careful."

 

Advice, now. The bosmer looked back, scrubbing soap out of her hair.

 

* * *

 

“Not sure why someone would go for someone who’s part dragon—“ And then he begins to wobble a bit. He decides to sit down on the bed, his butt no longer being wet enough to soak the material.

 

“Anyways, it seems like my dragon is very...’picky’.”

 

* * *

 

"Like a baby. Has a mind of its own?" Liu lifted herself from the water, eyeing across the room.

 

He had the towel. Damn this inn.

 

The bosmer skittered across the room to gently snatch the likely relatively damp towel from him, seeing as how he was mostly finished with it.

 

* * *

 

Bruccore--immediately covers himself with the covers of the bed, and acts like nothing ever happened, as he does not look at the bosmer. 

 

"Yes. It wants me to take anything shiny, wants me to dominate, take what it thinks should be mine." He pauses.

 

"I had to teach it the other day that you can exchange gold for goods and services."

 

* * *

 

The bosmer dried her hair off first, seeming to ignore the breton's 'extreme' reaction in her view. "Hm. A baby. Be kind to... it. Yourself. Be stern. Raising a baby is difficult. Don't know much about dragons."

 

The rags were donned once more, so at the very least some modesty was afforded. The towel draped over the well used tub edge. 

 

"Sleep, now."

 

* * *

 

"Right..."

 

And he puts on his small clothes, before he crawls back into the bed.

 

He passes out almost instantly.

 

* * *

 

The bosmer squinted tiredly. The reverse situation this time. 

 

Only really, this time, she didn't share the same reservations as him.

 

Liu laid down across from the slumbering Dragonborn, and wished for a more peaceful rest.


End file.
